


A Study in Spheres

by thehalfmadwriter



Series: DASHverse [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: A Study in Scarlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-17 12:32:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehalfmadwriter/pseuds/thehalfmadwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forced to remain behind after the Battle of Denerim, Enchanter John Watson is introduced to Sherlock Holmes, who introduces Watson to his strange profession and invites him to help solve the mystery of a murdered templar. Based on "A Study in Scarlet".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age, and that's probably a good thing. Sherlock Holmes is public domain, but just for safety, it was created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and not by me.
> 
> Author's Note: Hello, everyone, and welcome to that-thing-I've-been-working-on-in-my-free-time. I'm in the process of figuring out how AO3 works and transferring the story onto it, so there might be some formatting errors while I sort it all out. So bear with me, and I hope you enjoy the ride!

A Study in Spheres  
From the writings of Enchanter John H. Watson, spirit healer and mage of the Circle of Magi

The City of Denerim, Capitol of Ferelden  
9:31 Dragon

My wound has healed to a point that I can put quill to paper once again. Stamford says this is a good thing. He is unable to watch me every moment, and he insists that I keep a record of where I am going and what I am doing. I doubt such a record is for Stamford himself. He's been quite accommodating for a templar, and quite a pleasant conversationalist. However, he says I must note my activities, so I'll do so.

Only twice since discussing the matter with Stamford have I been outside of the small house where we were forced to make temporary residence after the battle. Both were short walks around the market square for the fresh air – or, to be more exact, what is left of the market square. The battle hit this part of the city harder than any other, save the main gates. I am sure the mages who have already returned to the Circle Tower have noted the degree of destruction, so I needn't bother to repeat it here. Repairs are underway, but it will be some time before anyone will be setting up stalls.

On both my trips outside, I was struck by the smell. The air was not quite so fresh as I was led to believe, and I don't know what sort of effect this will have on my health. It is a common jape from Orlais or Tevinter that Ferelden smells like wet dog. I daresay they can afford to add burned Darkspawn to the list, for I guess will be some months before the smell will fully vanish. 

Small groups of refugees are already returning to their homes. They mill around in small groups, congregating by the Chantry. It is amazing that the building still stands – either luck or the Maker had a hand in its preservation, or perhaps both. 

As Stamford instructed, I am keeping a respectful distance so as to avoid frightening the people. It is a sad and sobering truth that mages will never be fully accepted simply because we were born with talents that people cannot understand. Even so, though, I respect the fears of the people and obey the templars. If that is what needs to be done to keep the peace, I am willing to do it and encourage others to do the same. Still, though, I cannot help but hope for the future. The Blight was defeated with the help of mages. I know that Enchanter Wynne aided in some way and now stands proudly behind the new king. 

I hear tales, however, of an apostate woman sometimes seen in the company of the Hero of Ferelden during the events of the Blight. The tales describe her as beautiful, with raven hair and pale skin. Perhaps if I were in a more fit condition I would ask for leave to search for the truth of these rumors, but since I cannot barely make it around the market without being winded and clutching my wound, I'm afraid that will have to be postponed.

Stamford and I had what began as a fairly innocent discussion about this very topic as we were having a drink at a small pub called the Criterion. I wouldn't note it except for what has come after, as this conversation was the beginning of strange and extraordinary events.

“I'm being ordered back to the Circle Tower.” Stamford said to me as if from nowhere. “The Knight-Commander wants me to leave Denerim within the fortnight.”

I had been enjoying a pint of ale until he spoke. When he made his announcement to me, I dropped my glass back onto the table. As I leaned back in my chair, I could feel the frown stretching across my face, despite my best efforts to keep my expression neutral. “I'm going to have to make the trip back to Lake Calenhad.”

Stamford shook his head. “I don't think that's going to happen.”

“I don't have much of a choice, do I? Besides, I'm getting stronger with each day. I think the walks around the market are helping.”

“Walking around the market is one thing, John.” Stamford said and took another drink. “The journey to Lake Calenhad is another. It's a long journey, and a hard one. What parts of Ferelden aren't still in the grip of the Darkspawn are overrun by bandits and rebels. You wouldn't make it two days outside of the city.”

I couldn't help but to frown at that. “What do you think I should do, then? I can't stay here without a templar escort.”

“Well, before the Blight, you might have been housed at the Chantry or at the Wonders of Thedas until you were healthy enough to make the trip. Nowadays, we don't have that luxury, so you'll probably just be kept at Fort Drakon or in a cell in the Palace Dungeons.” Stamford's lips did a very funny thing just then. The ends twisted up into a funny expression. Not quite a grin, not quite a smile, but still amused. “There is another option, though...”

“What is it?”

“Are you sure you want to know?” He asked, the funny expression on his face becoming more pronounced. “I think that a cell would probably be very comfortable. They can set you up with one that isn't covered in bits of Darkspawn.”

By this point in the conversation, I was getting worried. “Maker, Stamford, speak plainly. What is this terrible other option?”

“There's this... person.” Stamford raised a finger to his chin, as if trying to figure out the best way to explain the situation to me. “I don't know much about him. He's an elf, lives in the Alienage with the rest of his kind. The templars are instructed to go to him if we ever have a problem that no one else can solve, and as long as we can pay, he'll be able to help. I've only ever met him twice before... a bit of an odd one.”

“Odd?” I asked. “How is he odd?”

Stamford downed the rest of his glass and stood. “Let's go and see him, and you can see for yourself.”

By then, night had well and truly fallen on Denerim. As we made our way through the gate and across the bridge into the Alienage, I turned to Stamford. “How do you even know that this elf of yours will be awake at this hour?”

Stamford let out a sigh. “Trust me, John. He's awake.”

We passed across the bridge and into the Alienage. I had not been down into this part of Denerim before, and it soon struck me why this was the case. Many of the buildings had been demolished by the battle, lying in splinters and shattered bits. Stamford and I walked through the square and turned down a street, walking deeper into the Alienage. For a moment, I wondered if we were going to be accosted by muggers. Then I looked to my left and saw a templar in full armor, and remembered that I would be fine.

“The locals call this one 'Baker Street'.” Stamford explained as we turned down another narrow street. “I think there's a bakery somewhere on it, but I've never asked.” We stopped at a small door about halfway down the street. Stamford raised a fist and knocked three times in quick succession.

Presently, the door was opened by a elf woman. She was short and looked to have a few years on her, none of them particularly kind. She glared up at us, and I did my best to smile and look non-threatening. For a moment, none of us spoke.

The elf woman was the one to break the silence. “Please tell me you're here to arrest him.”

“Good evening, Mrs. Hudson. What has he done now?” Stamford looked very much as if he was holding back a laugh. 

“I don't know! Locked his door, barricaded himself in his room, and now I'm hearing explosions. Explosions!” Mrs. Hudson threw her hands dramatically into the air, as if to emphasize the point. “He's probably setting the whole upstairs on fire. That madman is going to finish the job the Darkspawn started! He's a one-man Blight!”

Stamford moved towards the door, and Mrs. Hudson opened it so that we could pass through into the small hallway beyond. “Don't worry, ma'am. I'll take care of it.” Then, leaving her muttering to herself about explosions and Darkspawn, we headed up a small flight of stairs until we came to the locked door at the top of them.

True to form, the moment I stepped on the top step, there came a terrific blast from beyond the locked door. Moments later, I became aware of a whooping sound and several heavy footfalls. Stamford shot me a knowing look, raised his hand, and pounded on the door.

“Go away!” A voice inside the room snapped.

Stamford pounded on the door again. “Holmes! Holmes, open this bloody door immediately!”

Inside the room, the footfalls suddenly grew louder and louder. The door suddenly flew open, and standing before us was an elf with black hair and sharp features. He stared, wide-eyed, at Stamford and myself before suddenly lunging forward and clasping Stamford on either side of his face, grinning like a madman.

“Stamford! You couldn't have come at a better moment. I've done it! You'll want to see this immediately. I've done it! I've done it!” His voice was manic and quick-paced, and his eyes burned with the fires of victory.

“Alright, Holmes.” Stamford reached up and pushed the elf's hands away. “What have you done?”

Holmes turned and led the way into the room beyond. As we passed through the doorway, I saw that the room was cluttered with all manner of books and instruments on and around a single table. Two doors sat in the back of the room and a window to the side offered a view of the street below. The fireplace in the corner was unlit, but the room was filled with an unnatural haze. The only light came from a series of blue and green fires that sat in dishes on the table. Holmes himself took up a position near the table, taking excitedly and so quickly that I could barely distinguish what he was saying.

“I was reading notes on all of the apostate mages arrested in the last five years at the Chantry – the interesting information in the archives, and not that nonsense you lot have in the front bit – and I realized that there's no way to tell if a fire is lit by magic or by is just a natural occurrence. Say a barn happens to light on fire while a mage is hiding out in the town. If that mage is caught, they'll be blamed for the fire and killed, even if they protest their innocence. I've at last discovered a way to tell if a fire had traces of lyrium, and therefore, if a fire was set using magical means.”

Stamford raised an eyebrow. “And how did you do that, Holmes? It seems impossible to me.”

“Of course it does.” Holmes said dryly, turning to the table. He pointed at one of the flames. “The trick is to mix some of the ash with a combination of some deathroot and a concentrator agent and set a fire directly under it. The flames pass through the mixture. If the flame turns green, like so, there was little to no magic present in the fire. If it burns blue,” Holmes indicated another fire. “then the fire was definitely set by a mage.”

“I see.” said Stamford in a tone that clearly said he didn't. “I'll be sure to mention your work to the Knight-Commander.”

“Oh, do.” replied Holmes in a tone that clearly said he didn't expect Stamford to.

I cleared my throat, and Stamford looked over at me. “If you're done playing with fire, I'd like to introduce you to my companion. John, this is Sherlock Holmes. Holmes, John Watson.”

Holmes turned to regard me with a curious stare. After a moment, he stuck his hand out to me and held it there. I took it and gave it a small shake. Holmes cocked his head to the side and studied me for another moment before speaking. “Please to meet you, Enchanter Watson. I'm sure you haven't been to the Alienage since obtaining your injury in the Battle of Denerim, so I must apologize for the mess outside and hope that the journey was not too difficult.”

I turned to look at Stamford. “You sent word ahead that we were coming?”

“Not at all.” Stamford's grin had begun to return now that Holmes was focused on me. “I've told him nothing.”

“Then how...” I began, before Holmes interrupted me.

“You're in the company of a templar and your robe and staff make it obvious you are a mage, but you lack the characteristic burns on your fingers of an apprentice. The fact that you are with a templar at all suggests that you are not a senior enchanter, as you could very easily get leave to travel with that sort of status, hence, Enchanter Watson. As to the battle, I perceived that you had a slight limp upon entering and a slight shortness of breath. Furthermore, your robes are disheveled and poorly assembled on your person, as your are right-handed and have been forced to dress yourself primarily with your left hand. That you are here at all and not with the rest of the mages at Lake Calenhad suggests a role in the Battle of Denerim, and all of those signs point to an injury, though not an apparent one, likely a shoulder wound that is small but got infected. Hence, Enchanter Watson, Battle of Denerim, injury.” He spoke all this with a bored expression on his face, as if he had expected me to know this and was being forced to explain things to a child.

I looked back and forth between Holmes and Stamford for a few moments of silence. Stamford was trying very hard not to laugh, and Holmes looked as if he was waiting for some sort of expected response. When at last I spoke, all I could find to say was “That was astonishing.”

“Really?” Holmes' eyebrows went up. “That is not the response I usually get.” He turned and strode back over to the table, bending over his fires with his back to me and Stamford. “I enjoy the recreational use of a pipe.”

“Do you?” I asked, confused.

“Oh, yes. Often. Sometimes two or three at a time. I also conduct experiments in here of a scientific nature, and sometimes they can get quite loud and cause quite a mess. This wouldn't bother you?”

I shook my head. “I used to live in a tower with apprentices. I am used to loud noises and foul smells at all hours of the day.”

“What are my other faults?” Holmes twisted his head again, trying very hard to think of some. “I sometimes descend into silence for days on end and will speak to no one. Do not engage me in conversation during this time. Simply leave me to my own devices and I will be social again when the mood has passed. Oh! And I play the violin at all hours of the day. It was a gift from an Antivan prince. Helps me to think. That wouldn't bother you, would it?”

“That depends on how good you are.” I answered. “I enjoy a good melody so long as the player is skilled at his craft.”

Holmes clapped his hands together and spun on his heels. “Brilliant! What are your faults, then, Watson? If Stamford is going to ask me to consider keeping an eye on you until you can return to Lake Calenhad, then I think it is only fair if I know what difficulties you will bring to my life.”

I did not bother to ask how he know Stamford's purpose when the templar hadn't even told me. “Well, I keep odd sleeping hours and don't get out of bed if I can help it. I don't go out much, or bring anyone to see me. I'd also like to avoid arguments, as I'm in no condition to be angry too often. I have a different set of faults when I'm well, of course, but I can't see how that will matter much.”

With a laugh, Holmes crossed over to Stamford and thrust something into the templar's hand. “I'll take him. Don't you worry, Stamford, I'll keep a close eye on your mage. You can trust me, I assure you. I won't even charge you for it – just send along enough to cover his room and board, and I'll take care of the rest.”

“Really?” Stamford's jaw nearly dropped, and he stared blankly at Sherlock Holmes. “No charge?”

“I didn't say that. I said enough to cover room and board. As to the benefits to me, I daresay it will be nice to have someone around who is not constantly hounding me about not burning the city down. Just being his things by tomorrow, if he has any beyond what he is currently wearing. He can have the spare bedroom, if he gives me a few moments to remove the dead cat.” Seeing the expression of disgust creeping onto Stamford's face, Holmes snorted. “It was dead when I found it. I was examining the rate of decomposition when exposed to elfroot.”

“I... see...” said Stamford, taking a step towards the door. “Well, good luck to you, John. Send word ahead when you are well enough to return to the Circle Tower. If we don't hear from you in three months, we'll send someone to... investigate what has happened to you.” He offered a curt not to Holmes, and then vanished out the door, leaving me alone in my new temporary residence.

Sherlock Holmes stared after Stamford for a moment. Then he threw his head back and let out a great laugh. “Templars.” was all he said, before turning back to his table. When he spun around to face me again, he was holding one of the flaming dishes. “Hold this for me a moment, Watson. I have one last matter to attend to, and then I will clean out the spare bedroom for you.” 

The instant I took hold of the dish, he suddenly took a leap backwards and slammed his hands against the table, and the other flames suddenly roared up, nearly blinding me. I let out a cry and nearly dropped the dish I was holding. Holmes let out a cry of delight and seized the last dish from my hands, throwing it back on the table and ignoring the sudden bursting of blue flames from it. From somewhere below us, Mrs. Hudson began shouting and outside, a dog began to bark.

That is how I came to live at the residence of Sherlock Holmes. I swear to the Maker that this is the truth. I will note more about Sherlock Holmes at a future date, if my new friend doesn't succeed in blowing me up first.


	2. Chapter 2

Life has proceeded in a reasonable direction from there, with nothing too exciting to note. 

Sherlock Holmes has proved to be a interesting living companion, if nothing else. He keeps odd hours, retiring to his room long after I have closed my eyes to sleep, and being up and out of the house before I can open them again. He vanishes for stretches of time – sometimes hours, sometimes days – and often returns looking as if he has been dumped into the Drakon River. Sometimes he will return from these excursions chipper and bouncing up and down. Other times, he will seat himself in a corner with his knees curled up to his chest and his eyes glazed over.

Other than the first night, he has kept the sounds of his work as quiet as he can. This suits me well, as I am still not able to bear loud noises or sudden flashes of light. Even still, though, his work is of an unusual nature. A week ago, I awakened to the sounds of a blunt object beating against skin and muscle. Alarmed, I jumped up from the bed and rushed out into the main room of our living arrangements, prepared to engage the intruder.

Instead of an intruder, I found Holmes, a whip in his hand and a corpse sprawled out on the table before him. He was beating the corpse mercilessly with the whip. I cried out, and the elf spun on his heel, waving the whip in the air.

“No closer, Watson!” He said, raising a hand. “It is difficult to control where the whip goes.”

I stopped just short of the table. “Holmes, what in the Maker's name are you doing? Where did you get that?” I indicated the body on the table.

He looked where I was pointing and shrugged his shoulders. “The Denerim City Guard, of course. They have this habit of burning the corpses of their condemned. Wasteful practice. So much information to be gathered! Knowledge to be gained!”

“Have you no decency? That's a person, Holmes!”

“It was an elf, actually.” Holmes pointed downwards at the ears. “I knew him. Liked to cut purses near the Vhenadahl. Still, he isn't a person anymore, just a sack of water and meat.”

I opened my mouth to protest again. “But-”

“What if this experiment can help to clear innocent names? The Guard is incompetent at best and spectacularly stupid at worst. Surely you've observed this. They make no attempt to gather information or construct a case. They simply arrest whoever they think is guilty, and there are no means to prove any of their theories.” Holmes lifted one of the arms of the corpse and regarded it with sharp eyes. “We aren't living in the days of the Tevinter Imperium, Watson. We have progressed as a society since then, and it is time that our responses to crime catch up.”

“If you say so, Holmes.” I said, and turned back to my room, tired and defeated. As I closed the door, I heard a great and triumphant whoop from the room behind me. Shaking my head as I went, I returned to my bed and attempted to sleep. 

After that night, I made it a habit to watch Holmes closely. Part of it was motivated from a concern about his activities and if they would pose some sort of risk to my person, as I am in no present condition to defend myself well. However, a good majority of my interest sprung from a curiosity about the elf with whom I shared a living space. His comings and goings, his mannerisms and patterns of speech, his views and his reactions, all of these things are a strange and puzzling mystery after spending my entire life in the Circle of Magi.

Over the course of several days, I engaged Holmes in conversation repeatedly and observed what I could of him and his possessions. As I worked my way through the mystery, I made notes of what I discovered, which I have reproduced here.

\- Appears to have little to know knowledge of politics. Knows the names of the King, Queen, and Teyrn Loghain, but beyond that, knows nothing of the noble's names. 

\- Has a great knowledge of plants, herbs, leaves, and the usages of them in poultices and poisons.

\- Some limited knowledge of slight of hand. Stole a knife back from me after I had confiscated it without me noticing, but this is not a difficult feat.

\- Limited knowledge of geography outside of Ferelden, primarily Orlais and the Free Marches. Knows nothing of the Anderfels. Refuses to speak about Seheron beyond stating that he has been.

\- Great knowledge of small knives and their usage, especially when thrown at great velocity at the wall. Claims to have some limited knowledge of a bow and arrow. 

What is amazing about Holmes is not the vast number of things he does know, but how ignorant he can be of the simplest of matters. He did not, for example, know that the moon is what causes the tides to rise and fall. When I informed him of this fact, he snorted and leaned back in his chair.

“What a spectacularly useless piece of knowledge.” was his response.

“But Holmes, every child with year's education knows that.”

Holmes' response was to shake his head and sigh heavily. “That is the problem with education. Children have their heads crammed full of knowledge that they will never need to use. I thank you for that useless bit of knowledge, Watson, but now I must do my best to forget it.”

“Forget it?”

“Yes, Watson. You see, the mind is very much like a warehouse. No matter how you arrange the boxes inside of it, you will only ever be able to fit a certain amount. The fool, that is to say most people in Thedas, will cram everything he can in there. In doing so, even if he were to cram a great amount of possessions into his mental warehouse, he would be unable to find anything amongst the clutter and useless junk. I believe, therefore, in only keep things in my mental warehouse that are important to myself or to my work, and keeping them organized in such a way that I can find anything that I require.”

“But it's the moon!” I cried.

“Would it matter to me if the tides were caused by the moon, or by sun, or by birds flapping their wings in Antiva? It makes no difference and I don't care any more about it.” With that, Holmes took to his violin with great enthusiasm and ignored all of my queries for the rest of the evening.

One of the greater mysteries that Sherlock Holmes presented to me was of his social habits. He was not a man who seemed to keep many friends or close companions. Most of his interactions were with either myself or with Mrs. Hudson, who I discovered was the owner of the building in which both Sherlock Holmes and I (and no one else) were renting rooms. Beyond us two, he did not seem to speak leisurely to anyone.

He did, however, have a great many guests. They come at all hours and in all shapes, all of them looking for Holmes. Thus far into my stay at Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes has been visited by everyone from beggars to shopkeepers to Chantry priests. I would retire to my room to read when these guests came around, for it seemed they did not wish to be have the reasons for their visit made known to anyone who was not my living companion. I respected their privacy, though I must confess to curiosity at their comings and goings.

Several times, as I was re-entering the main room, I could hear Holmes seeing his guest out the door below. His farewells to them offered me some clue into the reason for their visits, although at the time, I could not place those clues together.

“He's left the city with his mistress to live amongst the Dalish.” He was saying to one particularly distraught-sounding woman. “Do not worry, though. He will likely return within the fortnight, and you may keep him or kick him as you wish.”

As he was escorting a Chantry priest to the door, I heard Holmes telling her “You may find it at the bottom of the well. I would have retrieved it myself, but you shall need a team of at least two men. I recommend finding your strongest and your nimblest parishioners and swearing them to secrecy.”

The most I caught of any of these visits was an argument between Holmes and a very angry-sounding woman at the bottom of the stairs. She was shouting something at him that I could not comprehend, and Holmes' cold voice was slicing through her rage like a knife.

“I have told you where your uncle is. If you need further assistance, I suggest hiring a bounty hunter or waiting until I am able to leave the city. I told you I would deduce his location for you, no more.”

“But you can't just leave him up there!” The woman protested. 

“I told you, I cannot leave the city at the moment. If I were available, perhaps, I could travel north to seek him out and bring him home, but-”

The woman's angry voice rose above his. “This is because of the shem you're hiding for the templars, isn't it? Just leave him at the Chantry and let them deal with him. Don't you have any loyalty to your own people, Sherlock?”

There was long moment of silence before Holmes replied. Even from the top of the stairs, I could hear the ice in his voice. “I do not decide who does and does not get included in 'my people' based solely upon the shape of their ears. Good day and good luck, Shianni.” There was the sound of a door slamming. Holmes ascended the stairs, looking distant and tired. Before I could inquire what was bothering him, he locked himself in his room and I did not see him for the next two days.

Some weeks after this confrontation, Holmes and I were sitting in the main room when I at last asked him about his mysterious visitors. He offered a wry smile and cocked his head to one side. “What do you think, Watson?”

I was taken by surprise, and thought for several moments about it before speaking. “I think they pay you to... find things for them?”

Holmes closed the book he had been reading and set it on the table. “They do pay me and it is to find things, in a way. I am a detective, Watson.”

“A detective?” I asked. “I have never heard of such a thing.”

Holmes laughed. “That is because I invented the job. If a crime is committed or a mystery presents itself, then it is the way of the City Guard to simply arrest whoever they believe responsible or to do nothing at all. I believe that through the use of proper deductive logic, most of these mysteries could be easily solved without resorting to barbaric tactics.”

“Does the City Guard know about this?”

“They are some of my most consistent clients. I have a friend in the guard, you see.” He turned and peered out the window, down at the street below. “And speaking of the good Sergeant, I daresay this is a message from him.”

Mere moments later, there was a knocking at the door downstairs. Mrs. Hudson's voice drifted up from below, along with the voice of a man I could not identify. Presently, there came a knock at the door to our shared room. Holmes called for our visitor to enter, and I rose to retreat to my room. Holmes, however, held out a hand to stop me.

“Stay a moment, Watson. Since you expressed an interest in my work, I should like you to hear what our guest has to say.”

The man who entered was dressed in the uniform of the Denerim City Guard. He was tall and had a squashed face, as if it had been shoved violently and repeatedly against a wall. When he saw me, he stared in my direction until Holmes clapped his hands. “Well? Go on, then. I am listening.”

“I was told by Sergeant Kylon to deliver this message only to you, elf.”

“Well, I am the one here now, not Sergeant Kylon, and I am saying to deliver it to the both of us.” Holmes tapped his fingers beneath his chin and stared at the Guard with an emotionless expression.

Our visitor did not argue the point. “There has been a murder. A templar, by the looks of it, in a warehouse in the Market District.”

I saw Holmes' lips twitch upwards curiously. “Has there? Why does Sergeant Kylon need me? Why not simply arrest the nearest mage and be done with it?” There was a note of bitter sarcasm in his voice. I could detect it, but I suspect that our visitor did not, for he answered the question with a straight answer.

“Because there's this... thing. At the scene of the murder.”

“What thing?” Holmes asked, his eyes narrowing.

The guard looked confused. “Begging your pardon, but I don't think you would believe me if I told you.”

“You would be quite surprised what I would and would not believe.” said Holmes, rising from his chair. “Go and tell Sergeant Kylon that I will be along shortly to examine the crime scene. He can wait until I arrive, I trust?”

“Yes.” The guard took a step towards the door and then bolted from the room without another word.

Holmes waited until the door slammed below us before he threw back his head and roared with laughter. “The City Guard is either inept or cowards, and often times both. The exception seems to be Sergeant Kylon. It is good that he is the one to summon me. He is the smartest of the Guard – that is, however, not saying a terrific amount about his intelligence. He is, at the very least, smart enough to keep me on retainer, and not to attack people who are more heavily armored than him.” As he was saying this, Holmes drew on a long black coat and placed several of his instruments in the pockets. When he was finished, he looked back over at me and frowned. “Are you coming, Watson?”

“I did not know you wanted me to join you.” I said, looking up from my chair.

“If you had nothing else to do. This sounds to be an interesting case, and on interesting cases, I find I work best when I have someone to bounce my ideas off of. Most people have this irritating habit of speaking whatever comes to mind, no matter its importance. If anything, you have the great gift of silence – a rare gift in these times.”

I stood and took hold of my staff, which had been resting on the back of my chair. “Very well, Holmes. I would be happy to accompany you.”

“Then there is no time to waste!” He cried, and vanished out the door. With a shake of my head, I followed him out the doorway, down the staircase, and into the night. I will recount the events which took place immediately after in a later writing, for they are long and will take some time to explain fully.


	3. Chapter 3

We traveled in silence, under the cover of night, to the edge of the Alienage and across the bridge into the Market Square. Holmes seemed to know exactly where he was going, and I did not question him as to our destination. Instead, we passed in silence through what had been rebuilt of the houses and shops.

When at last we arrived at the warehouse that I assumed was our destination, I expected Holmes to immediately rush inside. Instead, he seemed to delay entering for as long as he could. As I stood in confusion and awe, Holmes paced back and forth several times in front of the door with his hands stretched out from his sides. He examined everything – the road beneath our feet, the walls of the warehouse, and even the door itself. 

At last he clapped his hands together. “Come, Watson! I have found all that I can. Let us see what Kylon has in store for us.”

“What exactly have you found?” I attempted not to let my curiosity show too much in my voice.

“I will say once I have some more information. For now, it is sufficient to say that I found something.” With that, Holmes opened the door and strode into the warehouse. I followed, keeping and close hold of my staff.

The warehouse was dark and dusty. Part of the roof had caved in during the battle, and I could tell that it had not been cleaned in some time. Near the back was an opening leading to another room, and beyond that appeared to be another opening – likely the entrance to some secret room, plundered and left. For all intents and purposes, it appeared as if the entire warehouse had been sitting abandoned for several weeks, likely since the Battle of Denerim.

Standing in the middle of the room was a man with a sour-looking expression on his face. He was dressed in the uniform of the guard and holding a lantern aloft. Flanking him were two more guards. In the glow of the lantern, I could see that sprawled out before him was the body of a templar. The templar was still dressed in full armor and was lying face-up on the floor. Next to him were several small pools of blood. 

When the man holding the latern saw Holmes barreling towards him, he let out a long sigh. “Thank the Maker you finally showed up, Holmes. This is a strange one.”

“Strange is my specialty,” said Holmes, drawing level with the man, “as you well know, Sergeant Kylon. Now, pass me the lantern, so that I can examine the body. Has it been moved since it was discovered?”

“A little bit by the men who discovered it, before I arrived. I suppose they thought it would be funny. I put a stop to that and moved him back as closely as I could.” Kylon handed the lantern over to Holmes.

The elf who took it and held it over the body. “Good. You, I believe, amount for most of the intelligence in the city guard. In fact, why don't you ask your subordinates to leave? Doubtless both they and I would rather they were somewhere.”

“You heard the elf. Go watch the door outside.” Kylon waved a hand at the two guards standing behind him. When they departed with irritated expressions, he looked over at Holmes and shook his head. “You and I both know that they're going to run as fast as they can to the nearest whorehouse and I won't hear a thing from them until morning.”

“Likely for the best. You would have better luck handing swords to children than to those imbeciles. Now, let us see what we can make of this.” Holmes knelt over the body. One hand held the lantern while the other deftly worked at the corpse; lifting arms and legs, examining ever inch of the armor and exposed skin, poking at the flesh around the base of the skull, and sniffing the mouth. When he had finished this, Holmes turned to examine the pools of blood. He smelled and tasted a bit of each one, his features remaining unreadable even as he completed his grisly work.

While Holmes was occupied, I took the opportunity to make note of our companion. Sergeant Kylon was a tired-looking man. He had deep bags and a great many lines around his eyes. His hair was dark brown, but I saw bits of gray clinging to the temples and around his forehead. He looked a man who had dealt with a great too many stresses in his life.

I was interrupted from my examinations by Holmes standing suddenly. He looked over at Sergeant Kylon with a quirked eyebrow. “Is this all?”

“Not quite.” Kylon motioned with a hand and began to walk a few paces to the wall. As Holmes and I drew closer, the lantern light illuminated the wall, and I saw a curious thing. Scratched on the wall was the word THEO.

Holmes drew close, peering at the word with a curious expression somewhere between delight and confusion. His lips drew back in a thin smile, and he turned to look at Kylon. “Theo.” He said aloud.

Kylon shrugged. “Don't look at me, Holmes. This is why I called for you. I couldn't make any sense of this crime scene, and neither could my men.”

“That is because they are fools and idiots. You, my good Sergeant, while not being a fool, are still an idiot.” Holmes turned to pace back towards the body, and Kylon and I followed. “But I admit that I must agree. There is little to be gained from this crime scene.”

Kylon reached up to rub his temples with his forefingers. “Maker-”

“Nothing to be gained from this crime scene, except that the murderer was male and lacking in height, that the murder was planned beforehand, that the murderer showed no remorse for his killing, that the victim came here under his own power, that the blood does not belong to the victim, that the templar was killed with self-administered poison, and that the murderer is associated with the Circle of Magi.” Holmes finished the entire speech seemingly without taking a breath. When he had finished, he looked back and forth between Kylon and me expectantly.

Kylon was standing unmoving with his jaw slightly open. I was the first one to be able to put words together. “That was brilliant, Holmes!”

“Was it?” Even in the darkness, I could see his ears begin to go red. “Well, now, it wasn't so hard. The only difficulty was in understanding the meaning behind Theo, and even that was simple once I took a closer look at the writing.”

I shook my head. “I did not see any of that. You wouldn't mind explaining all of that to me, would you?”

“Yes, Holmes.” said Kylon more in confusion than awe. “How did you reach those conclusions?”

Holmes began to pace around the body. “I have told you, it was simple enough. The footprints of the murderer are still outside in the dirt still, and from them, I was able to deduce a rough height. The pace at which he moved indicated that he knew where he was going, hence planning the escape ahead of time, and the fact that the footprints remain consistent indicate that he did not turn around and showed no second thoughts about what he had done. No remorse and a planned escape all points to a murder planned beforehand.”

“And the poison? The fact he took it himself?” I asked, leaning forward.

“That was slightly more difficult. The mouth still smells of the traces of the poison, you see, but there is no sign on the nose or the jawbone that the templar was forced to take it. Likely, he did not know what he was drinking. Which still leaves the question of why he would take it in the first place unanswered. Furthermore, I perceived no signs of a struggle at the door. This is a templar in full plate armor. He would be nearly impossible to carry through the door and across a wooden floor without leaving some mark, and yet, there are none. So not only does he takes the poison that kills him, he comes to an abandoned warehouse alone and of his own will!”

Kylon tapped his foot on the floor loudly. “And the blood? Who does it belong to, if not the templar?”

“Well, to the murderer, obviously,” said Holmes. “There are no breaks in the armor or wounds upon the victim's body, but there is dried blood underneath his fingernails. I can understand how your guards would miss such a thing, Kylon, but it cannot escape my notice.”

I waited until he paused for breath before interjecting. “And the Circle of Magi?” This was the question that puzzled me the most. If Holmes could tell me what he knew of the Circle's involvement, then perhaps I could shed some light on the identity of the killer.

Holmes turned to face me. “Ah! And now we come to the most interesting part of this mystery. Come this way.” He let Kylon and myself over to the wall, where THEO sat on the wall. “Look closely and tell me what you see, Watson.”

I leaned close to peer at the name on the wall. At first, I saw nothing. After a few careful moments of studying, however, I saw something odd about the way the name was written. “The O is broken!” I exclaimed. “Rather than one solid letter, it appears slightly split in half.”

“Precisely!” Holmes clapped me soundly on the back with his free hand, and I saw that he was grinning. “Precisely, Watson! Ah, I knew there was some hope for you. Yes! Look closely. He did not write 'Theo'. Rather, he wrote the letters T, H, E, and C. However, something stopped him, and he finished off the C into an O.”

On the other side of me, Kylon recited the letters under his breath. “T... H... E... C... The Circle. He was trying to write 'The Circle'.” 

“Correct.” said Holmes. “This is my deduction of the events of this murder: This templar is lured or blackmailed into coming to this warehouse. While there, something occurs that causes him to drink the poison, and though self-administered, it is not by his choice. While the murderer is distracted, possibly out of the room, the templar manages to rush to the wall. Not knowing the identity of his killer, the templar chooses to scratch the murderer's affiliation on the wall with his weapon. He only has time to write the first four letters before the murderer returns or notices what he is doing and rushes to stop him. Hastily, he finishes off the circle before engaging the killer, managing to draw blood before succumbing to the poison. I must say, Kylon, that this templar is braver and cleverer than the entirety of the guard excepting yourself, which is a shame, because they are all still breathing and he is not.”

Kylon, to his credit, chose to ignore the obvious jab at his men. “What now, then? That doesn't give us very much to go on.”

“On the contrary, Sergeant, it gives us a great deal to go on. I am on the scent now, and it shall only be a matter of time before I find the culprit behind this murder. Like you, I am quite anxious to see the murderer brought to justice and figure out precisely how this was accomplished.” Holmes offered the lantern back to Kylon, who took hold of it and held it above the body.

I walked over to stand next to Holmes, looking over at the elf. “What will we do now, Holmes?”

“You and I, Watson, will return to Baker Street. There are arrangements that need to be made, and the sooner they can be put in order the better. Sergeant Kylon, in the morning, I will need you to pay a visit to the Chantry. See if any of their templars are unaccounted for. If we know whether this man was from Denerim or from the Circle Tower, it will tell us a great deal about the possible motivation behind this murder.”

Kylon nodded. “Of course, Holmes. I'll come over myself once I hear anything.”

“Good. Mrs. Hudson is rather fond of you, and I suspect she will want to make you stay and have a cup of tea with us. You are one of two humans that she does not seem to despise, although I think that is less her fault and more the fault of elven society.” Holmes turned and strode towards the door. I bade a quick goodby to Sergeant Kylon and turned to follow.

Holmes moved away from the warehouse at a quick pace. Despite the fact that I am taller than Holmes, I was hard pressed to keep up with him. As we crossed over the bridge back into the Alienage, Holmes turned to look over at me. The gleam in his eye had not gone away. In fact, it seemed to have intensified.

“You seem to be excited.” I said.

“Of course.” He replied, lips twisting upwards. “I find this to be a difficult case.”

“And this is a good thing?”

Holmes nodded. “Indeed. What good is there in a simple case? I need a proper challenge. There hasn't been one in ages. Come now, Watson. These next few days shall be very interesting indeed, and I am sure you shall want to get plenty of rest to prepare for them.”

I laughed. “I daresay that you are getting to know me quite well, Holmes!”

“I know you better than you think.” said Holmes, without any trace of jest. Together, we turned down Baker Street and finished our journey back to our lodgings.

This has very nearly caught up to the present. I shall explain what came after and complete the journey to the time of writing as soon as I have a moment to spare.


	4. Chapter 4

The morning after our adventure in the warehouse, I awoke and entered the main room of our lodgings. There I found Holmes, seated in a chair near the door and staring very intently at the wall. His eyes were glazed over, as if he was locked in his own thoughts. I took to my seat across from him slowly, expecting him to acknowledge my presence.

When several minutes had dragged by and he had not done so, I cleared my throat quite loudly. Holmes jumped and fixed me with a confused gaze. “Watson? How long have you been sitting there?”

“For some minutes.” I said. “Didn't you notice me enter?”

Holmes shook his head. “I did not. I was deep in thought about the problem before us, and such thought secludes me from the workings of the world.”

“Did you sleep at all?” I asked, astonished.

The response from Holmes was to shake his head once again. It is becoming a regular response to any query I pose to him. “I frequently do not sleep when I am presented a difficult problem. Nor do I eat. Both seem to simply slow down my process, and my mind must remain at peak focus during my investigation.”

I did not question this further, instead rising from my chair and quietly preparing myself a breakfast of cheese and bread. After I had finished taking my morning meal, I attempted to distract myself by reading. However, the unmoving presence of Sherlock Holmes constantly served to draw me back into thoughts of the case presented before us. I found myself asking questions in my mind, but not wishing to distract Holmes from his thoughts, I kept them to myself.

First amongst my thoughts was who the murderer could possibly be. It must be a member of the Circle of Magi, according to Holmes. But was it a templar? A mage? A priest? One of the citizens who dwelt near the docks? It could be anyone involved with the Circle. I most likely knew the murderer. My thoughts turned at once to my friends in the tower, to Stamford, Wynne, and First Enchanter Irving. I worried for their safety, knowing there was a killer among them.

Around mid-morning, there came a knock at the door below. A minute later, the door to our lodgings opened and Sergeant Kylon was escorted in by Mrs. Hudson. As he took up a position by the window, Mrs. Hudson remained by the door, her features contorting in a frown as she regarded Holmes.

“You aren't eating again.” she broke the silence. 

Holmes' response was to shrug his shoulders in disinterest. While Mrs. Hudson's frown continues to terrify me, Holmes seems completely indifferent to it. Perhaps it is the amount of time he has spent as her tenant, or perhaps he is merely unable to express any sort of fear.

Mrs. Hudson placed her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. “I'll go whip up a stew for you. Don't you dare go anywhere.” She nodded to Sergeant Kylon and again to me before vanishing out the door. I heard her go down the stairs and begin banging about in her rooms below.

“Kindly shut the door, Watson.” Holmes said to me, continuing to stare down at his fingers. I stood and obliged him, moving to lean against the wall once that had been done. The moment the door was closed, Holmes turned his head to look over at Sergeant Kylon. “Well?”

Sergeant Kylon met Holmes' gaze. “The templar was from the Denerim Chantry. Ser Enoch.”

“Aha!” cried Holmes, and sprung from his chair. He clasped his hands together and began to rush about the room. “This is excellent! Brilliant! Fantastic! Oh, thank you, Sergeant! Feastday has come early!”

Glancing in my direction, Sergeant Kylon shook his head. “I don't get it.”

“If the victim had been from the tower, it would have been a simple solution. The murderer took advantage of their journey away from the Circle to strike. But since Ser Enoch is from the Denerim Chantry, this means that some sort of larger conspiracy is at play. Ah!” Holmes was beaming. His arms were thrown out to either side, and he was bouncing back and forth between either foot around the room. He seemed to be a small child being told that he was getting his own mabari war hound.

Sergeant Kylon, by contrast, seemed to be disheartened at the very idea of a conspiracy. He slumped against the wall next to the window, lowering his head into his hands. “Maker, Holmes...”

“Don't despair, Sergeant.” said Holmes, coming to a stop. “We shall solve this mystery for you.”

“Oh, I trust you to do so. I just wish you wouldn't make murder look so blasted fun.” intoned the Sergeant into his palms.

Holmes wrinkled his nose. “If you insist, Sergeant. I forget that you are soft to those sorts of things sometimes.” He crossed over to the window next to Sergeant Kylon and peered down at the street below. For a moment, he said nothing. Then he turned his head back to the Sergeant. “Sergeant, were you followed?”

“No. I made certain of it.”

“Not certain enough. Look.” Holmes pointed down at the street below. As Sergeant Kylon turned to peek around the edge of the wooden frame, I rose from my seat and joined the elf and the guard at the window. As I stared through the glass at the dusty road beneath us, I searched for whatever it was that Holmes had noticed. Despite my best efforts, I saw nothing out of place.

Neither, apparently, did Sergeant Kylon. He shot a sideways glance at Holmes and cleared his throat. “What am I supposed to be seeing, exactly?”

Holmes looked over at me. I shook my head. He turned back towards the window, disappointment etched on his features. “Look there. The figure crouching beneath the drain, three houses down.”

Sergeant Kylon and I looked to where Holmes was pointing. Three houses down, beneath a worn metal drain, a hooded and robed beggar squatted in the street, drawing shapes in the dirt with a slender finger. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the scene. Beggars came down the streets of the Alienage often, as many of them were elves and made their residences in the muck that lined the houses. This beggar seemed no different from any of them.

I said as much to Holmes, and he sighed with disappointment once again. “No, look closer! The lining of his cloak is worn, yes, but it's not stained with dirt or the usual substances which line beggars' cloaks. Look at the way he covers his face! Why would a beggar in the Alienage wish not to be seen?”

“Some disfigurement, perhaps?” Sergeant Kylon suggested.

“No. No!” cried Holmes. “Even a disfigured beggar will often reveal his face. In fact, it makes him stand out from the crowd and makes him more noticeable to passers-by. This one is taking great pains not to be seen. Most likely he followed you from the Chantry, Sergeant, and even now waits to see who emerges from this house.”

My confusion turned at once to fear. I felt my instincts kick in, my muscles and bones preparing themselves for combat. “What should we do, Holmes?”

“There is but one thing to do.” He said. With a great flurry of movement, he spun on his heel and rushed for his coat. As he swung the black garment around his shoulders, he turned to look back at me. “Can you run, Watson?”

I moved to retrieve my staff from where it rested against my chair. “I believe I can keep up, yes.”

“Good! Then there is no time to waste! Sergeant, you must wait until we are gone to leave. Take the main road to the Pearl, and then double back to the Market. If I do not contact you, come and see me in a week's time. Come, Watson!” 

With that, Holmes burst forward and bounded through the door. I followed as quickly as I could, but by the time I was out of the room, Holmes was already down the stairs and hovering near the front door. As I hurried down the stairs to join him, Mrs. Hudson came from the kitchen, holding a bowl of stew in her hands. When she saw Holmes, she frowned, but stayed near the kitchen.

“Maker, Holmes...” She said, her disapproval apparent even to me.

Holmes smiled over at her. “Your stew must wait, Mrs. Hudson. I fear our mystery cannot!” With that, he threw the door open and launched himself into the street beyond. I followed as quickly as I could, not even bothering to turn and shut the door behind me.

When the beggar saw Holmes barreling towards him, he jumped to his feet and sped off down the street. Holmes broke into a run, sprinting in hot pursuit. 

Even with my injury, I was able to keep both of them in sight as we ran. The beggar had a good lead on Holmes, but the elf was gaining on his target. We ducked and weaved through the streets and alleys of the Alienage. With his black coat and hair, Holmes seemed to me a wolf as we ran, his eyes never straying from his prey.

Our quarry led us through the Alienage to the bridge leading to the Market District. Once, he lost us near the Vhenadahl. Holmes stopped and thought for a moment before speeding off down a nearby alley. I followed, unsure as to what Holmes was doing but trusting his intelligence. I was correct to do so, for we soon saw our hooded beggar once again, and quickly resumed the chase.

The Market District was crowded with refugees and visitors to the city that was slowly rebuilding itself. We dodged our way through the Market in pursuit of our beggar. By this point, I was growing winded and tired, but Holmes seemed to be even more alert than when we had started our chase. His eyes were alight with a strange fire, and he was completely focused on his task.

We followed the beggar as he closed in on the Chantry. When at last we rounded the corner into the courtyard, I found my feet coming to a stop at the scene before me. The courtyard was completely deserted.

Beside me, Holmes stopped as well. His eyes darted to and fro about the small courtyard, from the recently replanted garden to the well. He listened for a moment, and then strode forward. I followed him as he made his way to the Chantry door and threw it open.

Inside the Chantry, several groups milled about amongst the pews and pillars. Templars stood watch by every doorway and window. Several of them shot glares at me as I entered, but as they were no doubt aware of my situation and I was with Holmes, they made no objection to my presence. Sisters moved in and out of rooms, paying no heed to me or my companion. Parishioners lined the pews, some praying, others deep in thought or conversation. Near one of the corners, a group of mages and tranquil stood, waiting to begin the journey back to the Circle of Magi.

It was this group that Holmes approached. He strode up to them, and as he did so, they turned from their whispered conversations to look at him.

“Your pardon.” Holmes said, with no indication that he had run almost the entire way from the Alienage. “I was wondering if any of you saw a beggar with a hood come through here.”

The mages and tranquil looked to one another. Then one of the tranquil shook his head. “I am sorry.” He intoned, his voice bearing the flatness characteristic of all tranquil. “But I have seen no one matching that description enter the Chantry.”

This answer did not seem to suit well with Holmes. He shook his head violently from side to side. “He must have come through here. He did not vault the wall or descend into the well. I am sure of this.”

“I am sorry.” The tranquil repeated. 

Holmes scowled and turned on his heel, marching from the Chantry in frustration. I followed him, nodding farewell to my fellows as I went. When we entered the courtyard, he threw his hands up into the air in frustration and kicked at the dirt.

“But he was there!” He exclaimed. “He entered the Chantry. He must have!”

I laid a hand on Holmes' shoulder. “He must have shed his cloak and blended with the parishioners before anyone could see him.” Holmes let out a great sigh. His shoulders slumped and he shook his head. I began to step towards the Market, pushing Holmes in front of me. “Come. Let's get back to Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson no doubt wishes you to eat some of her stew, and I don't think it would be wise to argue with her.”

Holmes made no protest. He simply stared blankly as the two of us made our way back to our lodgings. He made no protest as Mrs. Hudson forced her stew on him, and after he had finished eating, he retired to his room, and I did not see him again for some days.


	5. Chapter 5

Not long after Holmes emerged from his room and rejoined the daily routine of the house, we received another visit from Sergeant Kylon. This visit was important for two reasons. The first being that it was completely unexpected, even by Holmes, and the second was that it changed the course of our investigation.

It was late in the evening, and Holmes and I had just finished engaging in a meal of bread and cheese in the main room of our lodgings. We were engaged in a heated discussion on the Qunari. Holmes was perched forward in his chair, hands clasped under his chin as he listened to my points.

“You may say all you wish about them,” I was saying to him. “but the lengths they go to in order to achieve their culture are nothing short of barbaric.”

“On the contrary, my dear Watson, the Qunari are the least barbaric culture in all of Thedas.” Holmes replied, stretching out in his chair. “Consider the Orlesians and their exclusionary tactics. Every other culture in Thedas takes great pains to ensure that the gap between the privileged and the lacking is as far as possible.”

“But the Qunari-”

Holmes shook his head. “Tell me, Watson. Have you ever actually read the Qun?” When I replied that I had not, he chuckled. “Then you fail to understand the point. What is impressive about the Qunari society is the way that each person is assigned the role that is best for them. There is no inequality under their Qun. Everyone does what they are meant to do.”

“What if you are assigned to a role you aren't good a performing? You, for example. Forgive me, Holmes, but I cannot see you doing well under the Qun.”

“On the contrary, Watson.” He smiled. “I would be Tallis. It is their word for 'to solve'. Quite a fitting role for me, and a rare one. I have been assured that if I were ever to convert to the Qun – which of course would never happen – that is the role I would be placed into.”

I frowned. “What of my role, then?”

“Well, you would be Saarebas, and...” Holmes' voice faltered. He studied his fingers very intently, deep in thought. When at last he spoke again, his tone was apologetic. “I am sorry, Watson. The way of the Qunari is far from perfect. There are some things that they could stand to improve on. But overall-”

We were spared any further argument by the sound of someone knocking at the door below us. Holmes started from his seat and a great frown crossed his features. I looked up at him from my spot in the chair, puzzled. “What is it?”

“It is Sergeant Kylon. That is his knock, I can make no mistake of this.” Holmes began to pace back and forth. Below us, the door opened and Mrs. Hudson's voice drifted up the staircase.

“What do you think he wants?” I asked. 

Just then, the sound of footsteps hurriedly ascending the stairs reached my ears. The door flew open, and Sergeant Kylon stood there. He was panting heavily and leaned against the door frame for support. “Holmes! You must come quickly.”

In three great strides, Holmes was at the Sergeant's side, helping him upright. “Sergeant, please. Calm yourself. What is the matter?”

“We have to go now, Holmes. There has been a second murder. Another templar. The Chantry has already found out, and we have perhaps half an hour before the templars arrive at the scene.” Sergeant Kylon shot a glance my way.

Holmes nodded. “In that case, best grab your staff, Watson. There is no time to lose! Sergeant, where is the body?”

As I stood from my seat and took hold of my staff, Sergeant Kylon turned to point down the stairs. “A few streets from here. Do you know the abandoned orphanage?”

“Abandoned for a good reason,” I said. “The way I hear it, it was haunted by demons, ghosts, and all manner of terrible creatures.”

Sergeant Kylon nodded. “The same one. That is why the templars are on their way to the scene. They fear that a murder in the building will tear the veil once again...” His voice trailed off as Holmes bounded down the stairs and burst through the door at the bottom of them. Kylon threw a glance at me, shrugged, and followed. I brought up the rear, closing both the door to the upstairs and the front door behind me.

By the time I reached Holmes and Sergeant Kylon, we were almost at the orphanage. Once Holmes saw that I had caught up, he turned his head to look over at Kylon. “Tell me what you know, Sergeant.”

Sergeant Kylon nodded and began his explanation. “A group of beggars found him about an hour ago. Fearing that they would be implicated as the murderers, they reported it to me. I have two men outside, and only I have seen the body. Once I saw the circumstances, I ran at once to find you.”

“And the Chantry?” Holmes asked.

“I had no choice but to send someone to tell them when I saw the armor. You know how they can get about their templars.”

We turned a corner, and the Vhenadahl rose into view in front of us. Off to one side, I saw a doorway with two of the city guards on either side of this. Standing before the guards was a red-headed elven woman. She had her hands on her hips and was berating both of the guards at the top of her lungs. The moment I heard her voice, I recognized her instantly as the woman I had overheard arguing with Holmes some weeks earlier.

“...owe it to the neighbors to explain to them what the hell you all are doing here! You're scaring the children, confusing the elders...”

As we closed in on her, Holmes spoke in a raised voice. “Shianni. Did you find your uncle?”

The woman turned and glared at Holmes. “Sherlock! You know damn well I haven't. Do I look like I have the coin to get to Tevinter?”

We drew level to her, and Holmes shook his head. “I will assist you as soon as I am finished with my current case, and I shall charge a fee that we both agree is reasonable. Does that sound appropriate to you?”

Shianni sighed deeply. “I guess that'll have to do. Maker, though, you do like to stick your neck out for shems.”

“On the contrary,” replied Holmes. “I stick my neck out for those who earn it. We shall argue this no further. Sergeant, if I might see the body now.”

Before Sergeant Kylon could respond, Shianni cut in. Her eyes had grown wide and the color was draining from her face. “What body?”

“On second thought,” Holmes said, turning his head back to Shianni. “Why don't you join us? We were just going to look at the body of a murdered templar, and you may have a chance to distract some templars for us. It could be fun for you.” She shrugged, and the four of us passed the guards and entered the orphanage. 

The building was long deserted. Spiderwebs and debris was strewn about the floor. The building smelled of dust and corpses. Beside me, Shianni reached up to cover her nose with her sleeve and Sergeant Kylon wrinkled his nose. Holmes seemed completely unaffected by the smell, although I knew him well enough to know that he simply was not showing his discomfort.

Sergeant Kylon led us into the first room to the right. As he opened the door, I took in the scene before me. The room apparently used to be some sort of bedroom, as I saw a bed and a dresser amongst the smashed furniture. There was some dried blood on the floor as soon as we entered, but Holmes took one look at it and shook his head.

In the center of the room, another templar lay. He was spread out on the floor, his eyes wide with shock and his jaw hanging open. His gauntlets were off. Clutched in his hand was a thin glass vial.

Holmes crossed to the templar and knelt down next to him. After a moment. “Do you know who this man is, Sergeant?”

Sergeant Kylon shook his head, but Shianni stepped forward and spoke through her sleeve. “I do. Ser Joseph.”

“Fortunate.” Holmes said, not looking up from his work. He turned the templar's head from side to side, examining the jawline. “What do you know about him?”

Shianni thought for a moment. “Only that he's a nasty son of a bitch. Oh, and he hates mages almost as much as he hates elves. Hated.”

“Possible motive for the murderer?” Sergeant Kylon asked, crossing his arms and watching as Holmes worked.

I thought about that for a moment before speaking. “It's possible. But I don't think the murderer is a mage. Or if they are, they are doing their best to conceal that from us. Most mages, even healers, can kill with magic. We don't need to use poison.”

Holmes looked up at me, and I saw a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “Well done, Watson. I must agree. This is either a very intelligent mage or a mage sympathizer.” He reached over to grab the vial and attempt to pry it free of the Ser Joseph's grip. The dead man held on tightly, and it took Holmes several moments to wrest his prize free. When it was safely in his hands, Holmes lifted the vial and took several sniffs of the edge.

Shianni looked over at me. “The hell is he doing?” My response was simply to shrug.

“The murderer had precious little time. This was done quickly, and the murderer left quickly.” Holmes stood and walked over to us, still carrying the vial. When he reached us, he held the vial up. “He used a fast acting poison, unlike the previous murder...” This elicited a confused look from Shianni, who I recalled knew nothing of Ser Enoch's murder, “...and he fled the scene without taking the time to free his vial from Ser Joseph's hands.”

“May I see that?” I asked Holmes. The elf nodded and handed the vial to me. I took it gently, turning it from side to side in my hands. It looked oddly familiar to me, although I couldn't place where I had seen it before.

Sergeant Kylon frowned at Holmes. “Why would the murderer need to flee so quickly?”

“He ran out of time.” Holmes said. “Most likely, he has left the city by now. This murder needed to be fast and efficient, and most likely was committed an hour or so before our murderer left Denerim.”

“Andraste's ass!” exclaimed Shianni. Beside her, Sergeant Kylon let out a loud groan and reached up to massage his temples with his fingers. “How are you going to catch him if he's left the city?”

Something clicked in my brain. I raised the vial once again to stare at it in the light. There could be no mistaking it – I knew where I had seen this vial before.

“This is one of ours!” I cried, and everyone looked over at me. I cleared my throat and prepared to explain. “This vial is one of the ones used to brew potions at the Circle of Magi. I see it all the time in my work. It's distinctive – most of our vials are used over and over again, and they get these scratches that I haven't seen on any vials since I left Lake Calenhad.”

Holmes clasped his hands together and grinned broadly. “Then we have but one conclusion and once choice. The murderer has fled back to the Circle of Magi, and we must pursue him.”

This elicited a raised eyebrow from Shianni and a sigh from Sergeant Kylon. It was the Sergeant who spoke. “We?”

“Myself and Watson, of course.” said Holmes, indicating me. “It is high time that he returned to the Circle. We shall use this as an excuse to travel there, and I shall travel with him to put this mystery to rest once and for all.”

When Holmes said those words, I felt my chest clench. I had begun to enjoy the freedom of living away from the Circle, and it felt surreal that it was now time to return to the Tower. I would leave again, of course, but those times would be few and far between. My adventures in the outside world were likely over for good.

“What should I do?” asked Sergeant Kylon. “I can't very well go all the way to Lake Calenhad.”

Holmes laughed. “I daresay not, Sergeant. You would return to find the city in ruins. No, you must delay the Chantry for me. Stall their investigation as long as you can, and buy me time to bring the murderer back here to face justice. They will want to be irrational. You must make them see the error of their ways.”

The door suddenly burst open and one of the guards hurriedly entered the room. “Sergeant! Sir! There's a group of templars here.”

“Shit.” Sergeant Kylon turned and hurried out the door. Holmes followed, and Shianni and I brought up the rear. 

We raced down the hallway and out the door. Just outside the orphanage, the remaining guard was arguing with a group of three templars. The templars had their swords drawn, and the first of the three had his finger rammed against the guard's chest. He was speaking in a cold voice. “I don't care what your Sergeant said. That is a murdered templar, and this is a templar investigation. Stand aside.”

“My good man!” called Holmes as we approached them. “Leave the poor guard alone. Doubtless he lacks the mental capacity to engage you in the proper way.”

“This isn't your affair, elf.” said the templar, turning his helmeted gaze on Holmes. “Back off.”

Shianni seized the moment to lunge forward, moving to stand next to Holmes with her hands on her hips. “Watch your tone, shem. You aren't welcome here. Don't you have mages to be oppressing, or are you branching off into elves now?”

“Keep your mouth shut.” The templar growled.

I stepped forward and placed by hands between them. “Let's be calm here. There is no need for confrontation-”

The templar seemed to see me for the first time. His eyes widened beneath his helmet as he took in my robes and staff. Then he raised his sword to point at me. “Apostate!”

“No, no...” I attempted to explain. “I'm not...”

“Surrender, in the name of Andraste and the Maker!” The templar barked, and beside him, his fellows raised their swords. The guards both took several steps back.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sergeant Kylon step up and draw his longsword. Shianni raised her fists at the templars. I looked back and forth between the two groups, waving my hands in front of me. “There's a misunderstanding. I'm not an apostate. I simply have to-”

That was as far as I got before a blur silenced me. The lead templar had charged forward with a sudden surge of movement. Before I could react, Holmes was between the man and myself. His hand slid under the helmet to jab at the templar's unprotected throat. He jabbed twice in rapid succession before drawing back. The templar stumbled and then collapsed to the ground, unmoving. Holmes looked up at the other two templars, who looked at each other and fled back towards the market district.

Shianni moved forward to kneel next to the downed templar. “Is he dead?”

“Incapacitated.” explained Holmes, clapping his hands together. “He will wake up shortly, however, so we must go. Sergeant, I trust you can deal with the Chantry on this matter?”

“I think I can explain well enough.” Sergeant Kylon sheathed his sword and shook his head. “Maker, Holmes. Are we fighting templars now?”

“It is always satisfying, is it not?” Holmes looked over to Shianni. “What about you? Will you be able to handle yourself if the templars come back?”

Shianni snorted and looked up from the unconscious templar. “Oh, I'll be fine. I brained an Arl's son once, and here I stand. A pillar of the elven community, defender of Denerim, all that nonsense.”

“You brained an Arl's son?” I asked, impressed. “May I hear the story sometime?”

For a moment, a shadow crossed Shianni's face and her eyes darkened. “I'd rather not tell it.” Then she seemed to return to normal, standing up and brushing her hands off on her dress. She turned to look at Sergeant Kylon. “You don't seem like an idiot. If you need me to punch out a templar, feel free to ask.”

Sergeant Kylon nodded. “Of course. I will go head this off. You and Watson had better leave soon, Holmes. Today, if you can. I can calm the Chantry down, but I'd avoid town for a few days until this all blows over.”

“That will be no trouble.” said Holmes. “Good day to you, Sergeant. Shianni.” He nodded to each in turn, turned, and began to stride off in the direction of Baker Street. I bade farewell to Kylon and Shianni as well, turning to follow my friend.

That is all the events that have occurred so far. As I write this, Holmes and I have joined a merchant caravan headed in the direction of Lake Calenhad. I expect we shall be there in roughly a week, if not a tad sooner. Once there, I shall present this report to First Enchanter Irving and see what I can do to aid Holmes. If the murderer of Ser Enoch and Ser Joseph is indeed within the walls of the Circle of Magi, then I must do the best I can to aid Holmes in apprehending him. After that, we will see what occurs.


	6. Chapter 6

The journey was a long, but not entirely unpleasant. The caravan took us on the North Road through the Coastlands, and we made very few stops along the way.

It was exhilarating to be out in the country, to feel the wind on my face and grass underneath my feet. The grass around the Circle Tower can hardly be called well-kept and the path leading from the docks to the doors consists almost entirely of dirt and rocks. I often forget how free and alive the open road can make one feel after all the time I have spent locked up in the narrow confines of the Circle Tower. I hereby commit to paper my desire to request some time to travel once this mystery has been solved. Perhaps I can convince Holmes to join me.

Twice we were set upon by bandits. For the first time, I saw Holmes engage in combat using his knives. Each attack, he would draw them from their hiding place inside their coat and spring forward into the fray in one singular movement. Watching my elven companion hold his own against heavily-armored bandits is an astonishing experience. No amount of description will capture the fluidity of his movements or the swiftness of his strikes. I shall leave that for the reader to imagine, though I suspect that their imaginations shall not do the scene justice.

After explaining my position as an Enchanter in the Circle, I was able to convince the mercenaries serving as our caravan's guards to allow me to heal their wounds with magic. Thanks to my healing talents and Holmes' botanical knowledge, we were able to survive both bandit attacks with no lasting damage to any of mercenaries serving as caravan guards. This seemed to please both the mercenaries and the merchants who did not have to pay the fee for lost men.

When our caravan passed by Lake Calenhad, the merchants decided they did not wish to stop there and instead opted to continue on. Holmes and I bade farewell to our traveling companions, who thanked us for our help. The mercenaries told Holmes that he was welcome to their assistance in the future, a fact Holmes seemed to make a careful note of. Then the caravan was off, headed south towards Redcliffe while Holmes and I walked the rest of the way to Lake Calenhad.

It was dusk by the time we finished our journey to the shores of the lake. Halfway down the hill to the dock, Holmes paused and stared out at the tower that dominated the sky before us.

“So that is Kinloch Hold.” He stated.

I nodded, looking back and forth between the tower and the elf. “That is the Circle Tower. Have you never been here before?”

“Never.”

“I find that difficult to believe. You have been a great many places.” I said, remembering the many places Holmes had mentioned visiting.

Holmes shook his head. “I have been to Redcliffe, but that is the closest I have actually come to this tower. I confess, though, that I have been quite curious for some time as to what Enchanter Watson's home looks like.”

“Well, here it is. This is home.” Even as I said the words, I didn't believe them. The Circle Tower had been where I was raised and where I had studied, it was true. It had certainly felt as close to home as I could get when I was younger.

Now, however, when I said the word “home” I found myself thinking not of the Circle Tower, but of Baker Street. I had only lived in the small house for several months, but it felt more alive to me than the Circle Tower ever had. I recalled the many hours spent in conversation with Holmes upstairs, eating Mrs. Hudson's stew, or the adventures I had been swept up in with Holmes, Sergeant Kylon, and the red-headed elven girl, Shianni. My heart sank as I realized that those adventures had drawn to a close, and that this was the finale to that part of my life.

Holmes and I walked the rest of the way down the hill to the dock in silence. In my mind, I prepared my explanation for Holmes' presence to Irving and Gregoir. Doubtless, I figured, the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander both would want a thorough explanation for why I had brought both an elf without magical talent along with me to the Circle Tower. I planned to explain the situation as best I could, and then present them both with the records I have so carefully kept of the events at Denerim.

Kester saw us coming from a distance and waved his hand in the air when he saw me. The elderly ferryman took a few steps forward, closing the gap between myself and Holmes. “Ho there!” He cried as we approached. “Enchanter Watson! I've been expecting to see you again for months.”

“I was recovering in Denerim.” I explained as we drew up to the edge of the dock.

Kester nodded grimly. “Couple of the templars who passed through here thought you might have caught that nasty Darkspawn disease.”

“No, no, nothing of the sort.” I assured him. “It was just a wound that needed some time to heal.”

“Well, good on you. I assume you'll be wanting to go up to the tower...” Kester seemed to notice Holmes standing next to me for the first time. He peered at the elf with great curiosity. “...and is the knife-ears coming with you, then?”

My breath caught in my throat and I looked over at Holmes. My companion, however, seemed either to not be bothered by the elderly ferryman's inadvertent slur or else he had failed to notice it. He cleared his throat and spoke in a carefully neutral tone. “I daresay I will be going across. I have business with the First Enchanter, and I will not be kept from it.”

“Oh?” Kester's curiosity seemed to deepened. “What kind of business would an elf need with the First Enchanter, then?”

“The business concerns the murder of several templars in Denerim.” Holmes said flatly. “I will not discuss it further.”

Kester's eyes widened. “Murdered templars? Maker, what next? First there's whatever business happened in the tower...” I shuddered at the memory of exactly what business the ferryman was talking about. “...and now templars are being killed? That won't do, that won't do at all...”

“Kester.” I said, stepping forward. “We need to get to the tower before the First Enchanter retires for the evening.”

“Of course, of course.” He replied, bobbing his head and turning away from us. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a brief expression of disgust flash across Holmes' face, but by the time I turned my head towards him, it had been replaced with his characteristic neutrality.

We made the trip across the lake in silence. As we approached the doors to the tower, however, Holmes turned his head to look at me. “What business was the ferryman talking about?”

“Surely you already know?” I asked, taken aback by the comment. It had seemed to me that Holmes knew everything, and I had forgotten how ignorant he was of recent events.

Holmes frowned. “I have a source in the palace who usually tells me of such things. However, in light of the amount that has occurred during the Blight, he has either forgotten to mention this or has not bothered to tell me at all. It is entirely possible, of course, that he is just learning of these events and has not had time to relay them to me.”

Nodding my head, I did my best to find words to explain what had occurred without the causing myself too much pain at the memory. “There was a rebellion in the tower. One of the mages, Uldred, led some of his fellows in a revolt using abominations and demons. If not for the intervention of the Hero of Ferelden, we might all have been killed.”

“Fascinating.” said Holmes. “Why wasn't the Rite of Annulment used?”

“The Hero of Ferelden and First Enchanter Irving talked Knight-Commander Gregoir out of it. They believed the Circle could be saved.” I was not in the room for the debate, but from what I heard afterward, it wasn't much of one at all. It seemed the Hero of Ferelden had earned the right to overrule anyone who disagreed.

Holmes nodded slowly, his expression remaining guarded. “Good,” was all he said before we reached the doors to the tower. The templars who stood on either side of them pulled them open with a great heavy grinding sound, and we entered the Tower of the Magi.

In the entrance hall, Holmes paused to take in the room. He carefully examined the walls, the tables and various books on them, and the ceiling. This earned him some suspicious looks from the templars who guarded the inside of the doors, but it seemed my presence was enough to prevent them from asking questions.

“Come on.” I urged, stepping towards the hallway that would take us around to the stairs. “Holmes!”

He snapped out of his examinations with a start and jerked his head towards me. “Of course, Watson. Forgive me. Let us be on our way.”

We passed by the apprentice dormitories. As we were walking by the entrance to the Reliquary, Holmes paused and tapped me on the shoulder. “Watson, where does that door lead to? Some lower level?”

“That leads to the Reliquary.” I explained. “Down there is where the phylacteries of the apprentices are stored. There are also some storerooms, a few holding cells, and a room containing rare and dangrous magical artifacts from Tevinter. As you can imagine, no one is allowed in there without special permission.”

“I see.” said Holmes, and we spoke no more of it.

Although I thought Holmes might have been tempted to stop in the library and examine the vast collection of books, we made our way through without stopping or engaging in conversation. We ascended the steps past the library and entered the second floor of the tower. We passed the storeroom and the tranquil that cared for it and the small Chantry in silence. At last, when we came to the office of the First Enchanter, we stopped. I raised a hand to the door and knocked on it several times.

“Come in!” called a voice from beyond. I pushed the door open and stepped through. Holmes followed suit, hands clasped behind his back and careful eyes taking in the office as we entered.

First Enchanter Irving was seated at his desk. His tired eyes were raised to watch us as we entered, and he was already rising to greet me before I could speak. “Enchanter Watson. Welcome back. It is good to see you again.”

“Thank you, First Enchanter.” I said, bowing in his direction. “I am sorry I could not return sooner, but my injury...”

First Enchanter Irving shook his head. “Think nothing of it, my boy. I am just glad you were able to return in one piece.” He turned his head to gaze at Holmes, his bushy eyebrows rising. “And who is your friend?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but Holmes stepped forward and put up a hand. “I prefer to speak for myself, Watson.” I closed my mouth and nodded as Holmes turned to regard the First Enchanter. “My name is Sherlock Holmes. I am here investigating the murder of two templars of the Denerim Chantry.”

“Murder!” Irving exclaimed. “The Denerim Chantry, you say? Why are you here, then, and not in Denerim?”

Holmes' voice remained level, and he spoke as if to a small child instead of the First Enchanter. “The murderer is associated with the Circle of Magi, and I have reason to believe he or she has returned to the Circle to seek refuge. Furthermore, I believe a larger conspiracy is at play, and I cannot track it down in Denerim.” At Holmes' words, First Enchanter Irving sunk deeper into his chair and sighed heavily. Silence hung over the room as he contemplated my companion's explanation.

It was I who broke it. “I have kept detailed records of the case, First Enchanter. If you wish to read them, I am happy to provide them to you.” As I said this, I reached towards where I had stored the papers.

First Enchanter Irving nodded. “I would be grateful if you would let me look over them, Enchanter Watson. However, for the moment, I think it is best if I go and fetch Knight-Commander Gregoir and we hear the tale directly from you. Please, wait here.” He rose from his chair and crossed to the door, passing through it. Holmes and I waited in a deafening silence for him to return.

Some minutes later, the First Enchanter entered the office and retook his seat at the desk. Behind him was Knight-Commander Gregoir, who moved to stand near the desk with his arms crossed. It was Gregoir who spoke, looking back and forth between me and Holmes. “What is this all about, then?”

I launched into an explanation of the tale, beginning with the discovery of Ser Enoch and the mysterious “THEO” on the wall, and ending with our arrival at the Circle Tower. I omitted the confrontation between us and the templars outside of the orphanage, however, as it would not endear Holmes to the Knight-Commander if I told of his easy dispatching of one of the order. Holmes helpfully provided some of the details that I had forgotten, although his tact did not improve and he often interrupted me mid-word for some correction that seemed trivial to me.

When I finished my story, First Enchanter Irving had reached up to cup his temples in his palms. Knight-Commander Gregoir frowned and considered our words for some time before speaking. “So this murderer is here, you say?”

“That is correct.” Holmes intoned.

Gregoir looked over at First Enchanter Irving for a moment before turning to look back at Holmes. “And what do you propose we do about this situation? It is bad enough that half of the tower is still not cleansed of demonic corruption. Now we have a murderer loose in the walls.”

Before Irving could respond, Holmes cut in. “There are a few things you can do. For starters, you can bar anyone from leaving the island while I look into this. Second-”

“Anyone?” cried Gregoir. “We have templars that sometimes have business elsewhere. We cannot simply lock down the entire tower.”

“You can, and you must if we are to prevent this murderer from fleeing.” Holmes said. His eyes were fixed on the Knight-Commander. I was taken aback by the unexpected severity of his gaze. “In addition, I will need to be provided with some deathroot and concentrator agent. Lastly, I shall need the names of every apostate that was recaptured in the Denerim area. If you can get me the names of any that were brought back by Ser Enoch or Ser Joseph, that will help narrow the search.”

With a great sigh, Gregoir shook his head. “Maker's breath, elf, you ask for a lot.”

“If you give me these things, Knight-Commander, I will catch your murderer within a fortnight.” Holmes said flatly, never once changing his expression. From what I had seen of Holmes' deductive powers, I did not doubt his statement. Knight-Commander Gregoir, however, did not seem convinced.

First Enchanter Irving rose from his chair and cleared his throat. “I do not believe we will have trouble accommodating our guest, Gregoir. I would rather endure a little inconvenience than allow a murderer to have free reign of the circle.”

“I'm afraid I have no choice but to agree with you.” Gregoir turned his head to regard Holmes once more. “You'll have what you asked for. You have a fortnight.”

Irving nodded his approval, smiling beneath his beard. “You may stay in the guest quarters. Enchanter Watson will can show you where they are located, and see to it that you get the items you requested.”

“Thank you, First Enchanter.” Holmes said, and bowed slightly at the waist. “I will try my best to stay out of the way of the tower's residents.” The elf turned and started for the door. When he reached it, however, Holmes turned and looked back at Gregoir. “By the way, Knight-Commander, my name is Sherlock Holmes, and I am rather attached to it. Good day.” With that, he opened the door and strode out into the hallway beyond before anyone could say another word.

I gave Knight-Commander Gregoir a hasty apology before heading out after Holmes. I found my companion hovering just outside the door. The moment I closed the door behind me, he clapped his hands once and smiled broadly. “They are granting all my requests. Ha! This shall be easier than I thought.”

“It will be less so with you antagonizing the Knight-Commander.” I said, a frown stretching across my face. “He is not a man that enjoys being trifled with like that.”

Holmes chuckled. “Oh, of course. I understand completely, Watson. However, I am also rather fond of my name, and I would prefer it if people would use it.” He shrugged his shoulders. “If he gets me the list of names I asked for, then I daresay I will be out of his hair sooner than a fortnight.”

I started down the hallway to the guest quarters. Holmes followed after me, speeding up so as to walk beside me. As we passed the Chantry, I turned my head to look at Holmes. “What is this list of apostates for, anyway?”

“It is a suspicion of mine.” Holmes explained, his eyes twinkling at the prospect of progress. “As I have said many times, there is a conspiracy at play. If I can determine which apostates, if any, were captured by either of those two templars, then it will give me a place to begin uncovering it. I do not know if it will amount to anything, however. We shall see.”

After showing Holmes where the guest quarters were located, I collected a record of all apostates returned to the Circle in the last year and delivered it to Holmes. He now sits across from me in the library, reading from it with great interest as I write down this record. I shall note more when there is something to note.


	7. Chapter 7

It has been some days since Holmes and I arrived at the Circle Tower. During this time, we have made several discoveries of importance to the case and have closed in on a way to catch the murderer of Ser Enoch and Ser Joseph. I will note the events here, and I shall explain why as we draw to a close of this record.

The first discovery that was made was a minor one. I believed so, but Holmes seemed adamant that any new knowledge was equally important.

Using the deathroot and the concentrator agent that I acquired for him from the tranquil in the storeroom, Holmes set up an experiment on a table in the guest quarters. As I watched from my seat nearby, Holmes set about using a sharp knife to take shavings from both the inside and the outside of the glass vial that we recovered from Ser Joseph's body. He then mixed the deathroot and concentrator agent with both shavings.

When this was finished, Holmes punctured the bottom of two small dishes with the tip of his knife, creating several small holes. I let out a great cry when he did this, for the dishes belonged to the Circle of Magi. At my clear discomfort, my companion merely frowned and shook his head.

“You mustn't worry yourself, Watson. The Circle will not even notice they are gone. If they should provide us even the smallest clue, then I imagine it will be worth it for the Circle to lose two small containers.”

“Very well.” I said, crossing my arms. “But see that you don't damage anything else while we're here, if you can.”

Holmes nodded and proceeded with his work. He filled one of the dishes with the mixture from inside the vial, and the other with the mixture from outside. Once he had finished with this, he lit a candle and passed it through the first mixture, the one taken with glass from inside the vial. The flame flickered for a moment, and then turned green.

“Aha!” cried Holmes, “Here we find a clue!”

“But what does it mean?” I inquired, rising to cross the room and take a closer look at the shimmering green light.

Holmes sighed, and I saw a brief flicker of annoyance in his gaze. “The poison that was taken by both of the templars did not use any sort of magic in its creation. It was mixed without any magical help, purely from herbs.”

I raised an eyebrow, prompting my companion to finish his explanation.

“If the murderer had been a mage, I find it highly unlikely that they would have been able to resist the urge to include some magical component to the poison. I hesitate to make any sort of conclusion without further information, however.” With this, Holmes placed the dish to one side and reached for his second mixture. He passed it through the flame as well. For a moment, the fire resumed its orange glow. Then it flickered and turned green once again.

“No spell has been used on the outside of the vial either.” I observed without thinking. “No warming or cooling spell.”

The annoyance in Holmes' gaze changed immediately to pride. He grinned broadly and clapped me on the shoulder. “Very good, Watson. We shall make a proper detective of you yet! It is looking more and more likely that our murderer was not a mage, or at the very least, did not use magic in plotting or executing the crimes.”

With this new information available to us, Holmes and I redoubled our efforts to track down any apostate who had been returned to the Circle Tower by either of the two murdered templars. We combed through the records as quickly as we could. The process was a long and tedious one, and more than once I found the names running together on the page as I stared at them.

Fortunately, we gained some rather unexpected assistance. It took the form of a shrill voice that, one afternoon, suddenly assaulted my eardrums.

“You're not a mage!”

Turning my head, I peered over the edge of the table. Of all the things to be standing in the library of the Circle Tower, a dwarf was the last thing that I expected. But yet here one was – a short dwarven girl with red hair and two small pigtails. She was staring at Holmes with wide eyes, clearly confused by his presence.

To his great credit, Holmes did not immediately retort with a rude quip. He simply sighed and continued to read through the names as he spoke. “No. I am not.”

“If you aren't a mage, then why are you... oh! You must be here to study like I am! Right?”

Holmes let out another heavy sigh of frustration, but kept his tongue civil. “In a manner of speaking.” I hid my grin at the sight of my companion so uncomfortable. Sherlock Holmes, one of the smartest men in Thedas and unable to handle anyone with a cheerful disposition.

“Oh, isn't it exciting!” The dwarven girl clasped her hands together and attempted to move so as to see what Holmes was studying. “I'm Dagna, by the way. What are you studying? Lyrium theory? I am, and it's... it's just fascinating. What do you think of-” That was as far as she got before Holmes cut her off, unable to bear any more.

“I and my companion are looking for any apostate brought back to the Circle Tower by two templars from Denerim, Ser Enoch and Ser Joseph. I believe that this information will be crucial to be determining who cruelly and remorselessly murdered them by forcing them to drink poison.”

For a moment, I thought that Holmes' blunt presentation of the facts might have rendered the poor girl silent in horror. I closed the record in front of me and turned to offer some words of comfort, but before I could open my mouth, she spoke again. “Fascinating! It's like a puzzle. Do you think this apostate was the murderer?”

“It's unlikely,” replied Holmes as I stared at Dagna, dumbfounded at her interest in the case, “We have already conducted tests and discovered that neither the poison nor the vial it was contained in bear any traces of magic.”

“Oh, how did you do that? What could they - no, wait, don't tell me, I want to figure it out on my own.” Dagna bounced up and down on her feet for a moment, thinking. Holmes flipped through a few more pages of his ledger, hardly paying an attention to the girl. After a few minutes, Dagna piped up again. “Do you think the apostate might be the next victim?”

At that, Holmes raised his head and at last turned to look at Dagna. He kept his face impassive, but I could see the clear signs of wheels working behind his motionless forehead. “And how did you arrive at that conclusion?”

“Well, you said that those two templars brought the apostate back to the circle, right? What if they were all working together on something? And if somebody wanted that kept quiet, they would be going after anyone who knew anything about it. Besides, you said that this apostate wasn't the murderer, and there aren't many other ways they could be involved.” Dagna frowned, as though she was dissatisfied with her own answer.

Holmes, however, smiled broadly. “That is precisely right. Well done. Take a lesson, Watson. She had even less information than we did, and she arrived at the same conclusion as I.”

“Good work.” I said to Dagna, offering her a smile before opening my record again and resuming my search. Andraste herself must have intervened, for after a few moments, my eyes suddenly picked up the names of our murdered templars. I followed the words across the page to the name of the apostate that they had returned to the Circle, my heart pounding in my chest. Reading the name did nothing to quell the feeling of unease. I quickly checked the date to ensure that it matched a reasonable time before looking up once again. “Holmes?”

My companion, however, had decided to reward our dwarven visitor with his opinion on Lyrium theory. “I have read some as background research for my latest project,” He was saying, “and I have found that the insights by those without magical talent are often the most valuable to the actual study of-”

“Holmes!”

Sighing with irritation at being interrupted in the middle of an intellectual conversation, Holmes turned his head to regard me. “Yes, Watson?”

I turned the record around to face him and rested my finger just above the name. “Sebastian Moran. Brought back the Circle of Magi by Ser Enoch and Ser Joseph of the Denerim Chantry two years ago.”

“Do you know him?” Holmes asked, taking the record from my hands to study it more closely.

“Not well,” I admitted, “He's a quiet man who keeps to himself. He was brought to the Circle as a teenager, I know that, and it was under unfortunate circumstances. That's all I know about him.”

Holmes nodded and closed the record. “Then we must act quickly. If this Sebastian Moran is indeed part of the conspiracy, then we must act quickly to determine if he is in any danger. I will need to search his quarters without arousing suspicion, and that means we cannot go to Knight-Commander Gregoir or First Enchanter Irving for help. I have an idea, but it will require some assistance.” He looked down at Dagna. “Would you like to help Enchanter Watson and I solve this mystery?”

The girl beamed with excitement. “Oh, would I ever! Thank you!”

“Then listen closely, both of you, for I will not explain this twice...” Holmes then proceeded to explain to us, in detail, his plan for infiltrating the quarters of Sebastian Moran.

Some hours later, as evening approached, Dagna and I positioned ourselves directly inside the entrance to the second floor of the Circle Tower. Our intention was to buy time while Holmes went through Moran's room, though this was made difficult by the fact that neither of us had any idea how long Holmes needed. 

In the flood of mages returning from their evening meal, we almost missed Moran. Fortunately, however, Dagna spotted him before I did. She raced towards him, waving her arms and shouting at him. “Hello! Hello!” After a moment, I registered what was happening and hurried to catch up.

Sebastian Moran was a young man with short dark hair and sunken eyes. Although many mages do not see much sunlight, he looked as though he saw even less. He jumped at the sound of Dagna's voice and looked around nervously, as if expecting a battalion of templars to suddenly swoop down on him. I cannot blame him, especially if he had been returned to the Circle Tower by the likes of Ser Enoch and Ser Joseph. 

I rushed to Dagna's side, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I am sorry, but Dagna here wouldn't let me have a moment's peace until she had spoken with you.” I fixed him with my best expression of shame.

“Er... alright.” He shifted nervously on his feet and looked down at the my dwarven companion. “What can I help you with?”

For a moment, I wondered if Dagna would be able to come up with something distracting enough to keep Moran occupied until Holmes finished with his search. But I underestimated the perky dwarf, for she launched at once into the most natural-sounding tirade I had ever heard. “Oh, I'm so sorry, but I just had to ask your opinion on the Entropy School of Magic. I knew you'd written a book on it and I just had to find out what your take on their practical use in modern magic because you only briefly mentioned it in page seventeen of your book – and can I just mention how amazing it is that you wrote that entire book at nineteen? Oh, listen to me babbling, I'm sorry, but I'm just so excited...”

The look on Moran's face as Dagna rambled on was one of the most shocked expressions I had ever witnessed. He looked as though no one had ever approached him before, and especially not to gush about a book it seemed he had forgotten he had written. He could only interject with an occasional “Yes-” or “I-” before being interrupted again by Dagna's ongoing river of words.

I do not know how much time passed while we bought time for Holmes. All I know is that there were moments where I questioned whether or not Dagna needed to breathe. It felt like an eternity before a slender hand reached out to tap me on the shoulder and a familiar voice cut through Dagna's ongoing ramble. “There you are! I have been looking all over the tower for you two. What are you doing up here?”

“I am sorry, Holmes.” I said, turning to look at the elf now standing behind me. “Dagna wanted to have a word with this young man. You know how difficult she is to stop.”

“I am aware of that.” Holmes said dryly. “However, I have need of you both downstairs immediately, and there is no more time for pointless dalliances.” With that, he strode past us and down the stairs, throwing open the doors to the library and marching through them. I bade a quick farewell to a very bewildered Moran and followed, with Dagna bringing up the rear after thanking Moran at least two more times.

Once we were down in the library and safely out of earshot, the three of us gathered at a table off to one side where we would not be disturbed. Once we were sure no one was listening in on us, Holmes turned to address me with the beginnings of a smile on his lips. “Thank you, Watson. I found what I needed.”

“Dagna is the one to thank,” said I, pointing to our dwarven companion. “She distracted him, not I. I have never heard someone so excited about a book before.”

The girl beamed at the compliment. “I read it once. I thought it could help with distracting him. People love to hear about their work.”

Holmes nodded. “Well done. I was able to find something in Moran's quarters that will help us immensely. Stashed in one of his desk drawers was a letter, sent without name, warning him to meet in the Reliquary tonight or risk exposure.”

“Then we haven't a moment to lose!” I cried.

“Indeed,” said Holmes, frowning, “Watson, you and I will have to venture below to see if we cannot catch this murderer in the act and save Moran's life.”

“Shouldn't we alert the Knight-Commander?” I asked.

Holmes shook his head. “He would merely blunder in with his templars at a critical moment and disrupt everything. Our murderer would likely get away. We must be swift and silent until the moment is right to strike. However...” He turned to look at Dagna once more, “There is one final way you can assist in our investigation.”

“What do you need me to do?” She asked, her eyes widening.

“Watson has been keeping a careful record of all that has occurred since the first murder. I will need you to deliver all of them to the First Enchanter as soon as we descend into the Reliquary. You must impress upon him to read them immediately. If we should perish or find ourselves too late, there should be enough evidence contained in Watson's records to bring the murderer to justice. Can you handle this task?” Holmes crossed his arms and regarded Dagna with a questioning gaze.

She nodded. “Of course. Just tell me when.”

“Very good,” said Holmes, “Now then, Watson, if you would kindly bring your records up to the current discoveries, I will begin making preparations of my own for tonight.”

That is where our discoveries ended. Tonight, Holmes and I will venture down in the Reliquary. Hopefully, we will save the life of Sebastian Moran and catch the murderer. If we perish, then may the Maker have mercy on our souls and may the person who committed these crimes at last face the justice that they deserve. No matter what happens, these writings will guide the reader to the right conclusion, as well as stand as a record of the brilliance and dedication of my colleague, Sherlock Holmes.


	8. Chapter 8

Whether by the grace of Andraste, the skill of Sherlock Holmes, or sheer luck, we have survived the events of the Reliquary. I will recount those events for posterity here, for each tale deserves an ending worthy of the story. Ours was a strange ending, if it can rightly be called an ending at all, but it must serve to close the book on this mystery.

When night had fallen on the Circle of Magi and all of the other mages safely in their quarters, Holmes and I ventured down to meet with Dagna in the library. I entrusted her with all the notes and records that I had made up to that point, and she took them gently, holding them in her hands as if they were made of glass.

“Be sure those get to the First Enchanter,” I said, “Do whatever you need to do to get to him at this hour, but ensure that he reads them at once.”

“I will.” Dagna said. Then with a great start, she threw herself forward and wrapped her arms around my waist. I could do not more than pat her on the back and she clung tightly to my robe. “Be safe down there. Both of you. Oh, I couldn't bear to see if you didn't...” She drew back and looked at Holmes.

He merely smiled at her. “I will do without a farewell, for I fully intend to return. You have been brilliant, Dagna, and I see a bright future for you indeed.” Then he turned and strode off down the rows of books without so much as a glance back.

“Farewell, Dagna.” I clasped her hands briefly, and then hurried to catch up to Holmes.

We made our way out of the library and into the large hallway that held the entrance to the lower levels of the Circle Tower. As we neared the door, I looked at my companion. “How are we going to get through the first door?”

“I obtained the password from one of the Chantry priests. It should be sufficient to get us where we need to go,” Holmes explained. In the dim light streaming in from the windows, every feature on his face appeared to be defined and clear. His expression was emotionless and cold. How he could be so fearless in the face of the impending darkness, I do not know. Perhaps he does not feel fear, or perhaps he does not allow it to shape his actions. Either way, that elf is far braver than many humans that I know, and he should serve as an example of his race's tenacity.

We ventured down the stairs and through the door into the hallway beyond. As we turned the first corner and beheld The Victim's Door, I let out a great cry of alarm.

“By Andraste! The door is already open!”

“Indeed it is,” muttered Holmes, stepping forward to examine the open door before us. “Well. That has saved us some useless speech, at least. Come, Watson! We haven't a moment to lose!” With that, he took off down the hallways, and I rushed to follow him.

We raced through halls and storerooms as fast as our legs could carry us. If the door was already open, then both the murderer and Sebastian Moran must both be inside the Circle Tower's basement somewhere already. Holmes looked a man on the scent of victory, and I was hard pressed just to keep up with him. The pain of my wound began to throb once again, but I ignored it, for I had far greater worries on my mind. 

Soon, only the storeroom and the Reliquary itself that held artifacts from Tevinter lay before us, unexplored. As we drew closer to the storeroom, I heard a voice coming with it.

“Please,” It begged in-between sobs, “Don't kill me... please... I didn't-”

At that moment, Holmes and I burst through the door and rounded the corner. Before us, Sebastian Moran knelt on the floor, holding a vial of liquid. Standing above him was another man, dressed in the robes of the Circle and holding a vial of his own. As one, Holmes drew his knives and I raised my staff.

“Drop the poison!” cried Holmes, “Stop at once!”

What happened next took mere moments, but it seemed as though it lasted forever.

The unknown man drew a knife from his robes and made to throw it at Holmes. As quickly as I could, my staff came up and I send a burst of energy from my mind. The blast flew through the air and struck the man, sending him stumbling backwards and dropping the knife. He shook his head back and forth, unable to think clearly or move. 

At the same time, Moran stumbled to his feet, sent the vial smashing to the ground, and bolted for the door. Holmes bounded after him, crying out for him to stop. Moran just ran, but Holmes was faster. The elf sprang forward with a final leap, tackling Moran with the hope of bringing him to the ground. As I turned towards them, I saw Moran push them both to the side, and they stumbled towards one of the shelves of artifacts.

“Holmes!” I cried, but it was too late.

Moran and Holmes collided with the shelf, sending it crashing to the ground behind them as they fell atop it, a tangle of legs and arms. I sprang towards them, arm outstretched. A great flash of light suddenly filled the room, blinding me and burning at my eyes. I stumbled, but managed to catch hold of a table to steady myself and keep from falling.

When the effects of the light faded and my vision returned at last, I looked over at the shelf. Holmes was still picking himself from the wreckage, stumbling slightly. Most likely, he was still affected by the impact. He had a cut his forehead, but otherwise appeared unharmed by the collision. Moran was standing some distance away, facing the door. The sound of footsteps was rushing towards us. I took a step towards him, holding my hand out and speaking in a calming voice. 

“Sebastian? It's alright. We're here to help you.”

The footsteps grew louder, and several templars suddenly burst through the door. Behind them came the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander Gregoir, along with Dagna. The templars formed a barricade between us and the door, and the Knight-Commander stepped forward. His eyes darted at once to Moran. “You were right to warn us, Dagna. It seems that Holmes and Watson have indeed caught the murderer. Take-”

“Forgive the interruption, Knight-Commander,” intoned Holmes, stepping forward, “but you are looking at the wrong man.” He pointed to other man who had been in the room with Moran. “There is your murderer, ser.”

“Him?” cried Knight-Commander Gregoir. I turned to look at the man, and I must admit that at the sight of him, I even doubted Holmes' deduction.

The First Enchanter voiced what we were all thinking. “Forgive me, Holmes, but... that man is a Tranquil.”

Holmes nodded, stepping over the ruins of the shelf to approach the man. “Indeed he is. You will also find that he is the murderer or Ser Enoch and Ser Joseph, and the intended murderer of Sebastian Moran. It is fortunate that we arrived in time to safe his life.”

“But that's impossible!” I cried.

“Improbable,” corrected Holmes, “Not impossible. They are two different things, my dear Watson. Bind his hands, lead him upstairs, and we shall have the tale from his own lips.”

Knight-Commander put a palm to his forehead and sighed. “Very well. Bind the Tranquil and take him to First Enchanter Irving's office. Sebastian, if you will come with us, we will escort you back to your-”

“DO NOT TOUCH HIM!” A voice screamed from the corner of the room. I turned my head, but there was nothing there but a few relics and a statue.

“Who's there?” I asked, stepping forward. “Come out. You will not be harmed.”

Irving shook his head. “It is the statue, Enchanter Watson. It speaks, and we should listen to what it has to say.” Turning, he addressed the statue. “Speak, then, and tell us what we should fear.”

“Him!” The voice, I could now tell, was clearly coming from the statue. It quivered with terror as it spoke, echoing through the chamber. “He is not your friend and pupil. Not anymore. He is rage and anger and pride and hunger now. You have freed him, and none of you are safe.”

As one, the templars raised their swords and shields. Sebastian Moran turned, and spoke in a voice that was not his own. The new voice was deep and cold, but beneath it burned the fires of a hatred that my ears could barely comprehend. “Freedom will be mine, prophetess, and you will not stop me. No one can stop me now.”

Dagna squeaked and hurried to hide behind First Enchanter Irving. Knight-Commander Gregoir took a step back and raised his sword before him. Holmes alone stepped forward to address Moran.

“Who are you?” He demanded.

Moran turned to look at Holmes with eyes that no longer belonged to him. “I have seen your mind, Sherlock Holmes. The great hunter. You are the best of your generation. You have caught criminals, monsters, vile men with black hearts. You bring justice and vengeance to the deserving. Come then, Sherlock Holmes, of Baker Street. Come and find me, or the greatest hunter will become the greatest prey.”

Holmes raised a finger to point at Moran. “Tell me who you are!”

For a long moment, Moran didn't speak. Then he raised his hands to either side. “I am pride. I am knowledge. I am power. My name is Moriarty.”

Knight-Commander Gregoir lunged forward, his sword swinging up above his head. “Abomination!” he cried, “Templars! Attack!”

There was a sudden blast of energy that hurled us all backwards. Glass shattered and books fell from shelves. The templars were thrown against the wall, armor clattering as they toppled to the ground. Moran – or rather Moriarty – simply stepped over them and out the door. A final laugh echoed through the hallway beyond, and he was gone.

Knight-Commander Gregoir pulled himself to his feet and lunged for the door. As quickly as he could, Holmes was on his feet as well and rushing to place a hand on the Knight-Commander's shoulder. “Stop. If you go after him now, you will die.”

“He is an abomination-” protested the Knight-Commander, but Holmes cut him off.

“He will be stopped. But not by you. Come. See to your wounded, take the Tranquil into custody, and we shall deal with him first. Then we shall handle Moriarty. Trust me.”

There was a moment where I thought that Knight-Commander Gregoir would rush off after the abomination now fleeing the tower. However, he relented and lowered his weapon. “Get the injured to their feet,” He ordered, “Bind the tranquil and bring him to First Enchanter Irving's office. He will explain how all of this was even possible.”

Gradually, we all made our way back through the rest of the storerooms and up into the tower. First Enchanter Irving attempted to send Dagna to bed, but she refused to go. Before he could ask her again, Holmes stepped in. “She has done much for our investigation, First Enchanter. She should hear the answer to the mystery that she helped to solve.” At that, Irving relented, and Dagna was allowed to join him, Holmes, myself, and Gregoir in the office of the First Enchanter.

When we arrived, the Tranquil was led in and seated in the middle of the room. Before he could speak, I held out a hand. “First Enchanter,” I said, “I would be remiss if I were not allowed to keep a record of this man's confession. Might I be provided a quill, some ink, and some parchment on which to record his testimony?”

“I take no issue with it.” First Enchanter Irving motioned to his desk. “Take all of the ink and parchment you need.” I nodded and made my way to the desk, where I readied myself to record everything that I heard.

Knight-Commander Gregoir waited until I was prepared before speaking directly to the man seated before us. “Now, then, Tranquil. You will tell us how this is possible, how you committed those murders, and why. You will tell us immediately.”

The Tranquil nodded and began to speak. What follows in these records are the exact words that he used. From them, it is my hope that the reader will be given some sense of closure to these events, and I present them now in the original, unedited form.


	9. Chapter 9

My name is Hope. I am from the village of Lothering, the son of a farmer and a washer-woman. I do not remember much of that time, nor do I care to. The past is irrelevant.

At a young age, I was discovered to have magical talent and sent away to study at the Circle of Magi. There I studied as an apprentice. I was a quiet lad, well-composed, and kept to myself at most times, failing to make friends or rivals with any of the other apprentices. It should also be noted that while I was a smart student, I was not as adept with magic as my peers were, preferring magical theory or the study of magical artifacts.

Some months before Uldred's rebellion and the attack on the Circle, talk began to reach my ears that I might be called for my Harrowing shortly. This fact terrified me. I do not understand what I feared at that time, merely that I did fear something. I found myself unable to sleep or eat properly, and it began to reflect that in my physical appearance and behavior. I often would skip meals to hide in the library, and took to walking about in the corridors after dark.

It was during one of these walks that I stumbled upon a young mage deep in conversation with two templars. They were speaking hushed tones, but I hid in the shadows and crept forward so as to hear what they were saying.

“I cannot do it,” the young mage was saying as I approached, “I will not do it.”

“You will,” replied one of the templars, “Or we will make you wish we had butchered you in Denerim rather than bring you back here.”

The young mage was on the verge of tears as he spoke. “But it is wrong.”

The second templar was not pleased to hear this. He seized the young mage by his robes and snarled in his face. “It is the will of the Maker that we extinguish the scourge of magic from the world he has created. You are vermin, mage. Be glad that we have chosen you to take part in our cleansing, rather than removing you like the stain you are.”

As you can imagine, gentlemen, I had no idea what to make of this. I recall being frightened, but I knew that I had to find out what the two templars were planning. Today, I would call this bravery a foolish act, for logic dictates that I should have left well enough alone. At the time, however, I felt that I would do more harm keeping out of the way than by acting. So I took it upon myself to discover the identities of all of the parties involved.

After some digging, I uncovered that the mage was named Sebastian Moran. He had recently fled the Circle in an act of desperation. I could not figure out why, but it seems he left in a hurry and got as far as Denerim before being recaptured. The two templars with him were the ones who returned him to the Circle of Magi were named Ser Enoch and Ser Joseph. They had a reputation for being particularly cruel towards mages, and very rarely were any mages captured by them returned to the Circle alive.

Feeling as though I had some obligation to aid Moran, I sought him out and confronted him privately. I told him that he merely should tell me what the templars were planning, and I would ensure that he was taken care of. Because I was a mere apprentice, however, and he was a full mage, he refused to hear me out. He said that I should leave well enough alone, and begged me to not to pursue it further. I had not the information to go to the First Enchanter with my concerns, so I endeavored to dig deeper.

I tell you now that I considered those few days I spent investigating to be some of the best of my life. I took to eating again. Gone was my fear of my Harrowing, pushed away by the overwhelming desire to get to the bottom of the mystery. I hid in the shadows, followed priests and templars around, and tried to understand what Ser Enoch and Ser Joseph could be planning.

Some days later, however, it would all come crashing down. As I walked the corridors one night, I found myself suddenly accosted by the two templars themselves. They seized hold of me suddenly, dragging me into an empty room away from anyone who might walk by. There they beat me with the flats of their swords, struck me with their shields, and crushed me with their boots. I was powerless to stop them, for I knew that if I fought back, they would kill me and protest that it was in their defense.

Once the beating was done, the two spoke to me. They did not wish to kill me outright, they said, as it was arouse suspicion in their activities and they could not afford it. Instead, they instructed me to refuse the Harrowing and agree to the Rite of Tranquility. If I did this, they said, I would be allowed to live out my days without feeling or emotion – or, they claimed, desire to look into them further.

I confess to you that I was afraid. I feared these men, their swords, and their power. I feared what they would do to me if I refused their offer. So I agreed to undergo the Rite, if it meant sparing my life. Perhaps I should have faced my death with dignity, but I was weak. I remember having the feelings of hopelessness and weakness, although I cannot recall how they felt. Not a week later, I was called for my Harrowing. As the templars looked on, I refused and underwent the Rite of Tranquility.

However, Ser Enoch and Ser Joseph made one mistake. They assumed that with all emotion removed from me, I would have no desire to continue investigating their activities. While it is true that I know longer felt the thrill of the chase, the facts were presented before me and could not be denied. Even as a Tranquil, I understood the logic of the situation. Two templars were coercing a mage into helping them with some terrible task, and if it damaged the Circle in any way, it would make life harder for everyone, including myself. The only logical course of action was to continue the investigation into their activities.

Once I began my work anew, I discovered that my new state of being made my work easier. Not only was I completely free of suspicion by templar and mage alike, but I was no longer bound by the emotions or thrills that had led to my capture. I was free to handle the situation with perfect and precise logic. Working under these conditions, I made great strides in my work and at last put the pieces together.

Carefully analyzing the comings and goings of the mages and the templars, along with the records of apostates that fled the tower, I was able to figure out what was occurring. It seemed that the mage, Sebastian Moran, would befriend apprentices who were in danger of fleeing the tower. Shortly after, they would successfully escape, only to vanish entirely. Word from Denerim told of a string of deaths at the hands of the templars, particularly the zealous Ser Enoch and Ser Joseph. It did not escape my notice that the names of the apostates who had fled the tower after befriending Moran often showed up on the list of apostates who had unfortunate meetings with the two templars from Denerim.

With this information in hand, I made my logical decision. If the three were allowed to continue their actions, then they would cause untold damage to the Circle of Magi. I could not bring this to the attention of the First Enchanter or the Knight-Commander, I knew, for they would not believe a Tranquil. As I puzzled over what to do and attempted to find a logical route, an unexpected development provided me the perfect opportunity to strike; The Fifth Blight began in Ferelden.

As the rest of the tower was caught up in the events of Uldred's rebellion and preparing to aid the Hero of Ferelden with his quest, I used the chance to make my preparations. I knew we would all be called to fight eventually, and I planned to use the aftermath to remove the three who were endangering the Circle from its midst.

I received my wish when we were eventually called to gather at Redcliffe. I brought the weapons I planned to use with me, smuggled through as part of the supplies from the Circle Tower. These were a few bottles of poison and an equal number of bottles of liquid that was a harmless mixture of water and some herbs to give it color. At first, I planned to rid the Circle of one of the templars at Redcliffe before the battle began, but the forced march to Denerim prevented me from acting until after the battle.

Once the Fifth Blight had concluded, I remained at Denerim under the pretense of gathering up the rest of the supplies from the battle and readying caravans for departure. In reality, I was ready to execute my plan. I knew that I could not overpower either of the templars, so I would rely on my skill as a herbalist and the willingness of anyone to believe a Tranquil is telling the truth to ensnare them.

Some weeks after the battle, once most of the Circle had returned to the Tower, I seized my chance to strike. I lured Ser Enoch into a warehouse in the Market District by pretending to know of an apostate hiding there. I knew that, in his zeal, he would rush to follow me without calling for assistance. When we arrived, I pretended that the room was booby trapped. I then presented him with two bottles – one filled with poison, and the other with the harmless liquid – and told him that we must both drink one, and our captors would allow the person who remained alive to leave. If he simply stabbed me, I said, then our captors would simply kill him and be done with it.

This, then, was the true brilliance of a plan that only a Tranquil could execute. I am without feeling or emotion, unable to express any sign. I knew which bottle contained the poison and which contained the harmless liquid, but I betrayed no signs to Ser Enoch. Whether or not I was frightened that he would chose the wrong bottle, I could not show fear. Thus, I was able to hold my ground, even as he took his time in deciding which bottle to choose.

When he had made his choice, we both drank. Within seconds, he could tell that he had chosen wrong. I then revealed my name to him, and in that moment, he knew what he had done. I moved to remove the evidence even as Ser Enoch writhed in the throes of death, not wishing to waste time. When I looked back to him a minute later, I was surprised to find that he was not only still alive, but carving a message on the wall with his sword. As quickly as I could, I wrestled the sword away from him – an easy feat in his weakened state. He died shortly after.

I did my best to clean up the mess, but I could not move the body. Nor could I cover the writing on the wall. It was obvious that he had been trying to indicate “The Circle”, as Ser Enoch had very likely forgotten my name. What he ended up with was THEO. I hoped that would suffice to perhaps throw any pursuers off of the trail.

As I would learn, it did not. Rumors reached my ears within hours that a templar had been murdered. Moreover, the rumors said, the guard was taking enough of an interest in the murder to bring in a consultant. Of course, I had never heard of Sherlock Holmes before that morning. I did all that I could to find out what I could of Holmes and his activities, and I learned that he was an elf who specialized in solving crimes that were too difficult for the guard.

As you can imagine, gentlemen, this was a string of events that I had not conceived of. I took it upon myself to see the elf in person. Dressed in the guise of a beggar, I sat outside his door for most of the morning, watching to see if he would appear. Shortly before mid-day, I saw a guardsman enter the building. Minutes later, Holmes himself burst forth. I knew that if I was apprehended, the good I had done would be for nothing. So I ran, throwing Holmes and his companion off by entering the Chantry. My plan worked, for although Holmes spoke to me, he did not recognize who I was.

Knowing that Holmes and the guard were closing in on my trail, I hurried to finish off Ser Joseph. It was a quicker job, and a cleaner job. However, I knew that I must get out of Denerim the moment Ser Joseph lay dead on the floor, so I was forced to leave behind the vial that he had drunk from, which was still clutched in his hand and would not be pried loose. Knowing it was more logical to risk capture later than to ensure capture now, I fled Denerim with one of the last convoys back to the Tower. Believing myself safe for the moment, I began to plan the last death I would need to remove the threat to the Tower.

Imagine my surprise when, out of nowhere, Holmes and Watson arrived at the Circle Tower. 

Once they arrived, I was forced to step up and move quickly. I sent a letter to Sebastian Moran in order to lure him down to the Reliquary. There, I confronted him about his part in the deaths of the apostates. He begged for mercy, but I refused to grant him any. Perhaps I might have forced the poison down his throat myself in time – he was, after all, much weaker and less armored than either templar – but at that exact moment, Holmes and Watson burst into the Reliquary. They succeeded in stopping me from killing Sebastian Moran, although I fear in the scuffle, they have unleashed something far more dangerous than I could ever be.

That, gentlemen, is my tale. I will be happy to answer any questions you might wish to pose to me in the future, but for the moment, I had said all that I wish to on my deeds.


	10. Chapter 10

As the tranquil was led away, the occupants of the First Enchanter's office sat in various states of shock. No one but Holmes had expected such a turn of events. The First Enchanter and Knight-Commander Gregoir looked back and forth at one another, both attempting to accept what they had just heard. Dagna seemed least perturbed by the story, second only to Holmes, though it was clear she was not expecting it either. The elf himself sat with his usual posture, leaning back in his chair with his fingers hovering together beneath his chin.

At last, the silence was broken by Gregoir. “That is unbelievable.”

“Believe it if you wish.” Holmes stated, with the hint of a smirk on his features, “It is still the truth.”

“Amazing that you worked it out. You are truly a valuable person to have around, Sherlock Holmes.” First Enchanter Irving nodded to my companion respectfully. When Holmes made no move to respond to the gesture, Irving cleared his throat and continued. “Enchanter Watson?”

“Yes, First Enchanter?” I looked up from where I was finishing the written account of the tranquil's confession. 

Irving stood and crossed to the opposite side of the desk, crossing his arms and leaning against the wood. “I will need you to present a full report to me. I want to know how exactly this happened so that it can be avoided in the future. Dagna, you may assist him if you wish. You have been a great asset in this trying time.”

The dwarf's head bobbed up and down eagerly. “Yes, First Enchanter! Oh, I'd be honored to help!”

There was a creak of wood on the floor as Holmes stood. He folded his hands behind his coat and took in the four others in the room. His cold eyes swept over all of us, but I saw a glimmer of something beyond them. “If I may interrupt. It seems to me as though you have a greater threat that must demand more of your attention. Sebastian Moran has, by now, likely escaped the tower.”

“The templars will track him down,” stated Gregoir clearly, “We shall not rest until-”

Holmes interrupted with a wave of his hand. “If your templars were able to recapture either Moran or Moriarty, they would have already done so. They will not catch them. Moran is already brilliant, and the presence of Moriarty will only serve to advance his intelligence. You heard him in the Reliquary. That was no ordinary spirit. Brute force will not win the day.”

“And what will?” asked Gregoir. Already, I could see the frown lines that so often characterized the Knight-Commander's features deepening. Holmes tended to have that effect on people.

“How do you catch someone intelligent?” Holmes took a step forward, looking directly at Gregoir. “You outsmart him. You require someone who is smarter than even Moriarty. You require me.”

There was a moment of silence as Gregoir and Irving exchanged glances. Dagna looked over at me, confused. I shrugged my shoulders slightly. I must admit that I had no idea what was happening either, only that Holmes must have had a good reason for suggesting that they present the case to him. Presently, Irving nodded and spoke once more. “Very well. Will you assist us in tracking down Sebastian Moran and the spirit who possesses him?”

Holmes didn't hesitate. “No.”

My heart clenched inside my chest, for I could not understand the direction Holmes was taking the conversation. Dagna seemed similarly stricken, her eyes widening as she stared at the elf. Gregoir seemed to be puzzling out what he would say next. Only Irving was able to speak, and his words were carefully chosen. “And why not?”

“I will require a condition to my help. If you agree to it, I will track down Moriarty, whether it takes a year or a decade.” Holmes' expression never changed. I could only see the wheels working behind his impassable eyes because I had spent time with the elf before. Holmes always had a plan, and this time was no different.

Gregoir took this moment to rejoin the conversation. “And what is the condition?”

With a small smile, Holmes reached over to point at me. “Enchanter John Watson will be released from the Circle of Magi. He will take up residence with me at Baker Street in Denerim and assist me in the hunt. If you agree to this condition, then I will take on the case.” 

I could not believe what I was hearing. I had expected to bid farewell to Holmes as soon as the mystery of the murdered templars was solved. Never, in all of my wildest dreams, had I imagined that there was a possibility for more cases and more adventures. I hovered on the edge of my seat, not daring to say a word for fear that I might hinder whatever course Holmes was pursuing.

“This is blackmail!” cried Gregoir.

Holmes nodded. “Of course it is. I never said otherwise. But it is your only option.”

After a moment of silence, First Enchanter Irving tried a different approach to the situation. “Would you truly allow this abomination to run free? Is Enchanter Watson worth so much to you?”

“Yes.” Holmes answered, as though he could not conceive of why anyone would answer differently. There followed another minute of staring between the three before Holmes spoke again. “You might want to make up your mind, gentlemen. Moriarty is certainly not waiting for you.”

My heart was pounding in my chest as we waited for the answer to Holmes' request. At long last, Knight-Commander Gregoir spoke. His tone was filled with defeat. “Very well. Enchanter Watson, you are hereby granted leave in order to deal with this crisis. I will ensure that the templars in Denerim know that you are not to be harassed, though you will need to see them on occasion to ensure you aren't practicing blood magic or summoning demons.”

I had to stop myself from breathing a great sigh of relief at the news. Instead, I stood and bowed deeply. “Thank you for your trust, Knight-Commander. I will not disappoint you.”

The Knight-Commander marched towards the door, clearly anxious to be out of the room and away from Sherlock Holmes. A step from the door, he paused and turned. His eyes locked onto the elf, and he shook his head. “I hope you know what you're doing.”

“Good evening, Knight-Commander,” My companion replied. The two stared daggers at each other for a moment before Gregoir marched from the room. The moment the door slammed shut, Holmes turned to look at me. “Are you ready to go, Watson?”

“I will need to pack the rest of my things,” I said, “If I am going to be away for some time, there are some items of personal value that I want to take with me.”

Holmes smiled, one of the few genuine smiles that I had seem from the elf. “Very well. I wait for you at the entrance to the tower. It is best that we get an early start.” He crossed over to Dagna and placed a hand on her head. The dwarf girl looked up at him. “I have stated this before, but I must state it again. You have performed excellently, even under duress, and have the makings of an excellent career before you if you continue to sharpen your mind.”

“Thank you!” The girl exhaled. She stared with wide eyes, clearly overcome by Holmes' words.

“Should you need advice in your studies or to consult me on any matters, you have only to write. I shall answer as promptly as I can,” With a flourish, Holmes turned and walked over to First Enchanter Irving. When he reached the man, the elf bowed. “A pleasure, First Enchanter.”

Irving nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you, Sherlock Holmes. Keep me updated as to your progress.”

“I will do so,” assured Holmes. He bowed again, and then turned and swept from the room. 

I bade a hasty farewell to First Enchanter Irving and Dagna, making sure to get my records of the case from Irving before heading to my quarters to pack. It was a long process. I did not know how long I would be gone, and I knew I could not carry all of my possessions with me. It took some minutes to decide what I wished to take with me and what I would leave behind. In the end, I selected a few of my favorite tomes, my journal, and a few changes of robes. I also took my records and plenty of parchment in order to record more. I know that there will be many more adventures that I will have with Sherlock Holmes, and I want to be able to document all of them.

Once I had finished packing and shouldered my bag, I made my way down to the door. Holmes was waiting for me, hovering near the table just inside the doorway to the Circle Tower. When he saw me coming, he folded his hands behind his back and regarded me carefully. “That took longer than I thought it would.”

“It was all rather unexpected,” I said, drawing level with him. “Are you confident in all of this, Holmes?”

“Of course I am. I would be lost without my Genitivi.” I recognized the name, of course, and was honored by the comparison to the famous scholar. However, it did not escape my notice what Holmes was comparing himself to. The thought of my companion's view of himself brought a knowing smile to my face. Holmes, oblivious to my thoughts, continued uninterrupted. “We will stay at the Spoiled Princess for the night - I have had quite enough of templars and their hospitality – and continue on in the morning.” He paused and studied me for a moment. “Are you doing well, Watson?”

My thoughts had already drifted far away to Denerim, to Baker Street, to Sergeant Kylon and his attempts to control his guardsmen, to Mrs. Hudson and her cooking, to Shianni and the other residents of the Alienage. For a moment, I had forgotten I was even in the Circle Tower at all, only returning when Holmes' voice cut through my thoughts.

“Of course. I am sorry.” I said. “Let's go.”

We made the journey back to Denerim with relative ease and without much trouble. Some days after our return, Holmes and I were seated in the main room of our living quarters. Holmes was plucking at his violin, sending sharp notes sailing through the air. He was deep in thought on another case, one which I do not have the time to detail here. I was seated in my usual chair, scanning through a few leaflets that Sergeant Kylon had given to me. When I noticed a parchment with an account of the case of the murdered templars, I let out a gasp that caused Holmes to look up from his musings.

“What is the matter, Watson?”

I pointed to the leaflet. “They are giving Sergeant Kylon full credit for solving the murders of Ser Enoch and Ser Joseph.”

“Of course,” replied Holmes, “I allow Kylon to take full credit on most of my cases. I daresay the man deserves a few moments to shine, considering the idiots he deals with daily. Besides, who would believe that an elf and a mage solved a mystery such as that one?”

I nodded, thinking. “That is true, but still... I have my records of the events during that case. You should publish them, and tell Thedas what really happened.”

“I see no point,” Holmes waved a hand dismissively, his usual method of ending the conversation, and went back to his violin playing.

I would not be dissuaded so easily. “I shall publish the book myself!” I declared. Holmes' reply was merely to shake his head, but I could not miss the barest hint of a smile. 

As I went to retrieve my reports and begin the process of creating the books, I thought on a quote I had read in the accounts of the Hero of Ferelden. It had been spoken by the mage Wynne one night, during a conversation with the Hero in their camp. He had recorded it amongst the many other things his friends and allies had said during that dark time. I would very much like to see Wynne again. Perhaps later I shall see if she is still at the palace, but for now, I will leave you with her words.

"You can find your family in the people around you. You can love your work and find fulfillment in duty."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't do author's notes in the story itself unless there's an emergency or something I just can't wait to share, because I feel it partially alienates anyone who's trying to read the whole story in one go. That being said, there's a few housekeeping things to take care of now that we've reached the end (for now) of our tale.
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. This has been a lot of fun and a great stress reliever in my free time. If you liked it, give it a comment, and feel free to drop by my Tumblr if you have any questions!
> 
> I'll be starting work soon on the next installment of what I hope will turn into a series. So stay tuned for “The Sign of the Dragon”, based on “The Sign of Four”, “The Greek Interpreter”, and “The Engineer's Thumb”, coming whenever I have another free minute.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! I hope you have a lovely day!


End file.
